


With Kink in Mind, Part 3: Fall

by TuppingLiberty



Series: With Love in Mind [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Asexuality, Collering Ceremony, Costumes, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Halloween, Kink Negotiation, Kink Scene, Kinktober, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Public Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Seattle, Sexting, Subspace, Sugar-Daddy esque, Suspension Bondage, Topping from the Bottom, collaring, graysexual character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-02 13:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16305995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Sequel to With Love in MindAfter an exciting spring and summer, Graeme settles into his fall schedule fairly well. Alan, though, is ready to take a big step forward with his personal goals. And of course, the boys keep being kinky.Written for Kinktober, updates daily.





	1. Prologue

If Alan thought Graeme was enthusiastic — crazy enthusiastic — at the Seattle hockey game, it’s nothing compared to seeing him at an actual NHL match. Game? Whatever. They’d decided to break in Graeme’s new passport with a trip to Vancouver for opening night of the Canucks’ season, and Graeme had practically bounced in his seat the whole train ride up. 

When he hadn’t been glued to the window, ooing and ahing over the scenery. 

“I’m so glad we came by train,” he whispered as they rounded Chuckanut Bay to come into Bellingham. 

Alan had simply linked their fingers and given him a kiss on the cheek. 

 

That excitement, though, has been eclipsed by a sort of reverent silence as they walk into Rogers Arena for the first time. Graeme seems to be in some sort of shell-shock while they walk through the team shop — where of course, Alan piles fan gear on top of Graeme again. He’s adorably flustered, seeing how close their seats are to the ice. And then something breaks — maybe it’s the sound of sticks on ice — and Graeme is overflowing, effervescent, babbling about this and that and stats and NHL rules vs. CHL rules. 

That excited talking turns into screaming and shouting as the match — game? Alan still hasn’t figured it out. Whatever. — starts. 

Alan just cheers when Graeme cheers, because that method worked well for him last time. It seems to work now, too, because Graeme is beaming up at him like he hung the moon, like he’s Graeme’s world, and Alan’s so grateful for that look, he almost falls to his knees then and there. 

 

He waits for that, though, until they’re in the hotel. Just barely, though, pushing Graeme against the closed door of their room, opening his pants, and taking him down to the root right immediately.  Graeme buries his hand in Alan’s locks, yelling out encouragement, and coming in three minutes flat. 

After, they both stumble toward the bed, a mess of giggles. 

“You know, we do all this kink stuff, sometimes I forget exactly how good our vanilla sex is,” Graeme observes, hugging Alan and nuzzling into his neck. 

“Fair.” Alan nuzzles right back. “What’re we at now, anyway?” 

“Almost halfway, actually. I was looking at it the other day.” 

“And you’re still good to go? After … everything?” Alan’s breezes over the breath play incident. Sure, Graeme’s working on it, but it also doesn’t do to needlessly trigger him. 

“Yeah. 31 kinktober prompts, completed by my birthday. Are you still good? You’d tell me if you weren’t, right away, right? You wouldn’t let it bottle up because this is something I  _ really _ want to do?” 

Alan presses a kiss to Graeme’s lips. “Of course I’d tell you, baby. I’m good to go. What’s up next?” 

Graeme grins up at him. “Well, some good things, but...uh...nipple play.” 

Alan laughs, reaching down to tweak one of Graeme’s nipples. “Gee, that’ll be hard.” 

“Yes, they will,” Graeme snickers, then gasps when Alan tackles him to the bed. 


	2. Nipple Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW - Discussion of end of life plans, discussion of Tommy's abuse

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Mid-September/October 16

| 

**Nipple Play** | Frottage | Body Worship | Sixty-nine

| 

_>. > <.< — G_

  


_Uh oh. — A_  
  
**A Few Weeks Ago:**

Cutting, piercing — any type of blood play — are on Graeme’s hard no list. For a scene, that is. He looks surprisingly confident now, though, as Alan holds open the door to the tattoo and piercing shop for him, then follows him inside. This was Graeme’s choice, although Alan had been extremely happy to jump on the enthusiasm bandwagon with him. 

Graeme smiles shyly at the literally colorful attendant at the front display case, and Alan slides in behind him, bolstering him with a hand to his lower back. He feels the warmth of Graeme’s body through his soft shirt, radiating against his palm. Graeme gives him a quick glance, a smile, and then back to the attendant. “Hi, I’d like to get my nipples pierced.” 

From there, it’s a surprisingly simple and fast process. There’s the paperwork, which takes a bit of time, and waiting while the attendant goes through it and sets everything up. While they wait, they peruse jewelry, Alan holding Graeme’s hand when the tattoo artist’s gun buzzes to life every few moments. There’s a woman getting a lovely piece of scroll work on her upper thigh, but the sound makes Graeme flinch. 

Alan’s pricing a pair of 24k white gold hoops for when Graeme can start changing his jewelry out when the attendant calls them back. Graeme squeezes his hand, takes a deep breath, and heads back. Alan uses the chance to sneakily buy the hoops with another attendant. 

The actual piercing only takes a few minutes. When Graeme reemerges from the back piercing room, his back looks a little stiff, but he’s grinning ear-to-ear. 

“It’s done?” Alan asks, surprised at the speed. 

“It’s done. And I’ve got a handy list of instructions for aftercare, and also, like, when we can do fun stuff with them again.” Graeme grins at this, raising his eyebrows suggestively. There’s a high flush on his cheeks that Alan can’t resist, swooping down to kiss one as they walk out of the shop. 

They go a few feet before Graeme winces, slowing slightly. “Sorry. My shirt is kind of rubbing against them.” 

“Ooo, does this mean you’re going to be lounging around the house shirtless for a few days?” It’s Alan’s turn to wiggle his eyebrows at Graeme. 

Graeme laughs, nudging Alan with the side of his body. “Probably. Think you’ll be able to restrain yourself from doing something unsanitary to them?” 

“If I must.” Alan heaves a heavy mock sigh. “So really, how’d it feel?” 

He watches as the blush gets a little darker on Graeme’s cheeks. “Uh. Well.” Graeme sort of glances around the busy Seattle street, as if everyone is listening in on their conversation. Alan’s not worried about it, but Graeme obviously is, as he pulls Alan’s shoulder down so he can speak directly in his ear. “It hurt, but like...the way your spanks hurt. Good hurt. And I’m fairly sure they’re rock hard right now.” 

Alan pulls Graeme more possessively into his side, careful not to tug on his shirt to cause him discomfort. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?” 

 

**Present Day:**

Alan’s phone pings, and he automatically looks down, expecting a text from Graeme. Instead, his sister’s face pops up, and the phone continues to vibrate. He sighs, then answers the phone with way too much enthusiasm to be real. “Heyyyyy, Sam, how’s my favorite sister?” 

“You’re busy,” Sam says flatly into the phone, sighing. She’s always been able to see right through him.  

Alan’s fingers twitch over the keyboard. They want to get going again, to capture some part of the genius idea he’d just had to repair the code for their latest app before it flits away like a hummingbird. “Um. No. Go ahead. It’s okay.” 

“Have you checked the email I sent you?” 

“C’mon Sammy, what generation are we? You call me to see if I’ve checked my email?” 

“I’m  _ calling _ to make sure you’re not avoiding it.” 

Alan stops typing, his gaze flicking back to the third monitor where he has his email screen up. “Is it something I should be avoiding?” He quickly scans the unread messages until he comes across his sister’s teacher account.  **End of Life Plans, Custody Arrangements,** it reads. Oh, yeah. There might be a reason why he would avoid that. 

He swallows heavily as he double clicks the email. “It’s all ready for me to sign?” 

“Alan, I’m sorry. I just—” 

“No, I know. You’re protecting the kiddos. I just— It’s okay. I'll be fine.” 

“You know you gave me the idea, right? When you had all the paperwork done so that Graeme wouldn’t be left with nothing if something bad happens to you?” 

His eyes are inexplicably teary. “Yeah, no. Of course. It’s— Nothing’s going to happen to any of us, but it’s good to have it all set up anyway, right?” 

“Right.” Sam sounds depressed, and Alan wishes, all of a sudden, that they’d had the guts to do this on a Sunday brunch day, where he could be there with her and give her a hug. But, neither sibling had wanted their parents involved in the paperwork. And there’s no reason to bring Graeme more anxiety. 

“It’s not like signing it means something bad will happen. It’s just— just in case.” 

“Right. Of course. So, uh. Sign the paperwork and then the next time I see you, you and I are going to share a six-pack of Elysian and shove this paperwork in a drawer and forget we ever thought about it, right?” 

“Sounds about right,” Sam says, with what sounds like a watery laugh.

Alan uses the digital signature to cross all the Ts, his swoopy letters joining Sam and Ricardo’s. If something happens to them, he’s going to take the kids. There. Done.  _ Fuck. _ “Why is growing up so fucking scary?” he whispers. 

“I’m going to go hug my husband,” Sam declares. 

Alan thinks briefly of going home early to cuddle up with Graeme on the couch, but decides to stick it out. “I love you, sis.” 

“I love you.” 

 

“What’s wrong?” 

Graeme’s question comes to him almost immediately after stepping into the apartment. He should have never figured that he’d get a secret past his boyfriend, who had studied reactions and moods for years to make sure he wouldn’t be getting hurt. Alan tries to clear his face, but he has a feeling he looks more tired than anything else. “Can I tell you after dinner?” 

Graeme leans up, brushing a short kiss over his lips, then taking his backpack from him and hanging it by the door. “Yeah, sweetie, of course.” 

He takes Alan by the hand, leading him to the kitchen, and sits him down at the island counter. “How do you feel about lemon-chicken soup?” 

“I am...neutral? Never tried it.” 

“Oh man.” Graeme gets this expression on his face that’s not so dissimilar to his O face. “You’re in for a treat, then. I had it at this Greek place, and I don’t know if it was the cold of the night, or the fact that I was really fucking happy because I’d found a twenty on the ground, but I went into this little hole-in-the-wall and ordered the soup and my life changed.” 

Alan can’t help but smile at Graeme’s enthusiasm, feeling a bit of his dark mood lighten. “And have you successfully replicated it?” 

“Eh. It’s okay. I mean. I guess I could throw a twenty on the floor and we can see if that really was the X factor.” He ladles soup into a bowl and slides it in front of Alan. 

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Alan’s eyes drift shut, the heavenly aroma of the soup striking his nose and already beginning to warm him from the inside out. The broth is just a little thick, full of rice and chunks of chicken, but Alan can smell the lemon in there, too. Opening his eyes again, he’s greeted by Graeme leaning over the kitchen island, his chin in his hand, looking expectant. 

Obliging him with a smile, Alan spoons up a bit, letting the flavors slide around in his mouth before he swallows. “Graeme, this is amazing,” he breathes, feeling bits of tension he hadn’t known he was holding start to drift away. “Are you sure you won’t just let me buy you a restaurant so you can make everyone as happy as you make me?” 

Graeme laughs, coming around the counter to wrap his arms around Alan. “I’m sure. One, I don’t think I want to own a restaurant. Too much pressure. I’m still trying to figure out my options in the culinary world. Two, you’ve already given me everything. It’s enough.” 

“Never enough,” Alan teases.

“Mmm, yes, you haven’t quite bought every single crop top you’ve ever seen on the internet for me, have you, hmm?” 

“It’s not my fault you look fucking amazing in a crop top.” He maneuvers Graeme around to his lap, and they sit, taking turns with the bowl of soup, and then another, until Alan feels fat and lazy and happy, pushing the bowl away. 

Graeme smooths a finger over the worry lines in the middle of his forehead. “Can you tell me now?” 

Alan self-assesses, and is surprised to realize that— yes, he can. Graeme’s magic soup has lifted him away from thinking about the what-ifs of a terrible future. He finds that he can easily explain, now, what had made him so upset. 

“Of course it would, sweetie.” Graeme leans in, kissing his forehead. “If you’re looking for someone to tell you everything’s going to be hunky dory so you don’t need to prepare for something bad happening, you’ve come to the wrong man.” 

Alan tightens his arms around Graeme, hugging him tightly. “I definitely came to the right man.” 

“You sweet talker.” With a sly look, Graeme slips off of Alan’s lap and holds his hand out. “I’ve got one last step for us in the relaxation program for the evening.” 

“Oh?” 

“Time for some mandatory cuddling.” 

Alan laughs, just a little, as he lets Graeme lead him to the couch, since the papasan is currently being occupied by both cats. Graeme pushes him gently down, then straddles him, but it’s not sexual. It’s grounding, letting Graeme weigh him down. Graeme throws his arms around Alan’s neck and cuddles in close, and Alan reciprocates, his hands sliding up and down Graeme’s back. 

“I love you, like, a lot a lot.” 

Graeme’s whispered words make him smile, really smile broadly for the first time all day. “I live in fear of the day you take away one of those ‘a lots’.” 

“Never gonna happen.” Graeme bites Alan’s earlobe a little in retaliation, then sweeps a hand through his hair. “I’m so proud of you. That shit is terrifying, okay? But it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen if you plan for it. Believe me, I’m the king of making a plan and worrying over nothing.” 

“I guess...it made me think about Tommy.” 

Graeme hums a little in his ear, squeezing him more tightly. “He didn’t get a chance to plan for this kind of thing,” he says astutely. Sometimes Graeme’s emotional intelligence blows him away. 

“We had other plans.” 

Graeme leans back, brushing over Alan’s cheek. “Tell me? If it’s not too difficult.” 

“I knew about his dad being an abusive fuckwad, right? So when he turned 18, he was going to come live with me. He practically did, anyway, he basically hung out at my house the whole weekend, every weekend. I hadn’t told my parents about our plan, but they would have approved. They loved Tommy, too. And then I was going to go off to college, but I wanted him to come with me, live with me in Seattle.” Alan laughs ruefully, rubbing a tear out of his eye. “I was a ‘for life’ person even back then. Always have been.” 

“One of your best qualities,” Graeme murmurs, pressing a light kiss to his lips. 

“Weird quality for a 16 year old, though.” 

“Maybe. But it’s sweet. And so very Alan. Taking care of your best friend.”

“I should have reported his dad. I should have told an adult.” 

Graeme purses his lips. “That’s hindsight talking, though.” 

“That’s what I’ll regret for the rest of my life.” 

“I know.” Graeme wraps him up even more tightly, like he’s trying to make sure there’s no room between them. 

Alan takes a few deep breaths, letting himself feel Graeme’s steady heartbeat. After those precious minutes of centering, he feels...better might not be the right word, but it’s the best one. “I need—” He falters. 

“What do you need, Ally?” 

The nickname, one Graeme had bestowed on him months ago, that is utterly unique to Graeme, bolsters him. “I need to take care of you? Will you let me do that?” 

Alan can tell that Graeme might make a joke out of it any other time, tap on his chin and say, ‘gee, let me think, my sexy boyfriend wants to sex me up, hmmm, how do I respond?’ Instead, Graeme leans back, his fingers resting on the hem of his shirt. He raises an eyebrow, seeking Alan’s permission to pull it off. 

Alan nods. 

Graeme shivers from pleasure, pulling off his t-shirt carefully. With a start, Alan remembers why Graeme’s so careful with undressing these days: his two perfect nipple rings, laying against the skin of his chest, the sight of them enough to make Alan’s mouth water. 

Graeme grins, knowing full well what Alan’s staring at, but he still keeps sitting back. “What do you want me to do?” 

Alan looks up, meeting Graeme’s eyes. “Take it.” 

With that, he latches onto one of Graeme’s nipples, the sensitive nub hardening under his mouth. Since they’ve healed, Graeme’s nipple rings have become a major part of their play, both because they heighten Graeme’s pleasure and because they allow Alan to dole out a little pain. He does so now, tugging on the stainless steel ring, smiling at Graeme’s gasp above him. 

Graeme presses against him, and Alan can feel the hard outline of his cock against his pants. Alan lets his hips have free rein, letting Graeme work himself against his stomach as he tortures his nipples. 

Graeme’s fingers are buried in his hair, but they’re not guiding him or pressing. More like Graeme is hanging on for dear life. With a grin, Alan moves to the neglected nipple, knowing the moisture on the other one will continue to stimulate Graeme in the cooler night air. 

His hand slides down to the small of Graeme’s back, encouraging his movements as Graeme braces on Alan’s shoulders. “Just let go,” he murmurs against Graeme’s chest. “Let yourself come.” 

Graeme laughs above him. “Don’t rush me,” he mutters, his breath catching when Alan pulls at the ring with his teeth. “Okay, or rush me.” 

Alan grins savagely, continuing to torture Graeme’s nipples, tugging and pulling on both at once as Graeme’s hips speed up. Suddenly Graeme stiffens, his fingers clutching at Alan’s shoulders, digging in, and he groans. Deep satisfaction pours through Alan at the sound of Graeme’s orgasm. He did this. He brought Graeme to this point. It will never not be satisfying on a fundamental level. 

Graeme collapses into Alan’s arms, spent, chest heaving. “Good thing you buy me a lot of pants with the amount of them you make me mess up.” 

“Happy to.” Alan wraps his arms around Graeme, letting himself feel the life flowing through Graeme’s veins. Graeme is here, with him, for now, for as long as they get. Alan much prefers to live in the moment over worrying for the future, and the future — and his past — is easiest to forget in the afterglow. 

He lifts Graeme up and starts carrying him toward the master bath. 

“A lot, a lot,  _ a lot,”  _ Graeme mutters in his ear, sounding like he’s about to fall asleep right there. 

Warmth blooms in Alan. “Right back at you, baby.” 

 

“You texted?”

Alan looks up from his scribbled notes to see Mal standing in the doorway. “Come in, shut the door. Mal, I need you to oversee hiring another assistant. They’ll be your assistant, essentially.” 

Mal frowns. “I don’t need an assistant, Al—”

Alan holds up his hand. “You will. Because I’m going to be, well, with your permission, I’m going to be shifting your focus away from this company.”

“I’m— I’m not being fired, am I?” They clutch at their ever-present tablet. 

“Heavens no. I can’t survive without you. No, you’re being promoted. You and I are going to be tackling a side job of sorts. If I could, I’d just clone you, so I could leave you behind to take care of things here. So, you’re going to have to hire someone amazing.” 

They immediately start scribbling on the tablet. “Got it. Same starting pay, et cetera?” 

“Bump it up to current market. I’ll sit in on the interviews but this will mostly be your decision I’ll be taking, okay?” Alan walks over to the window, taking in his view of the Sound. 

“Sure, you got it, boss. And what are we going to be doing?” 

“What’s my net worth at these days? Something obscene, I’m sure. Well, it’s going to be a little less from now on.” Alan turns back to them. “We’re starting a charity. A real space, somewhere here in Seattle — we’ll have to scout locations — I think my friend Krista can help with that — and choose a neighborhood to focus on at first. A space that will serve victims of domestic abuse, especially LGBTQ+ youth. A shelter, an after-school hangout, a support system, a food pantry — whatever is needed. That’ll all have to be researched, too. I’m going to start looking through charities in Seattle that are already doing these things and figure out where the gaps are that we can fill. I want you to research other major metropolitan areas. Start with the West Coast — Portland, San Francisco, LA — but then move to Chicago, New York, DC, et cetera, okay? I’m going to want to talk to a lot of people before we start building our foundation.” 

Mal’s stylus is moving furiously on the tablet. They straighten up, their eyes bright and energized. “Got it. I’ll start working on all of this right away.” They stand, but pause with their hand on the door handle. “Thanks for letting me be a part of this, Alan.” 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Mal.” He offers them a smile as they walk out at a fast clip.


	3. Collaring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graeme wants to take another definitive step towards commitment to Alan.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Late September/ October 17

| 

Masturbation | Seduction | **Collaring** | Orgasm Denial

| 

_I mean I like all of our options. They’re all fun. But, um… I’ve been thinking… — G_

_You know what? I want to do this irl. — G_

  


_Let’s talk tonight — A_  
  
Graeme sets down his phone, having read Alan’s last edit, and looks back at the image of himself in the mirror. He’s always kind of liked how he pulls off the chef’s coat, to be honest, although he hates the white hats he had to wear at _Cerulean Persimmon._

Back to school tomorrow, with a full load of classes this time. If he loads up this year, then he should be able to graduate next spring...if he can pass everything. His pulse beats against his skin, and he takes a few calming breaths. After the summer job, he has a clearer image of what he doesn’t want to do. Now it’s about acquiring more skills and figuring out what he really _does_ want to do. No big deal, none at all.

He inspects himself one last time, making sure he doesn’t need to take bleach to the top anywhere, before shrugging out of it and heading to the kitchen again. Alan had taken him to Vancouver two weeks ago, an extended weekend trip that had left them both ecstatic and exhausted. Now, with Alan dealing with...heavy things with his family, and really starting to lay the groundwork for the charity he wants to start in Tommy’s name, Graeme has taken to preparing dinner for them every night.

At first, Alan had protested, saying Graeme doesn’t owe him anything, but Graeme had been able to convince him that he doesn’t feel like he’s doing it to pay back Alan at all.

And that’s mostly the truth. It’s true enough to not feel like a lie, anyway. He’s fairly sure that part of him is always going to feel like he needs to pay Alan back. He’ll always feel at least a little indebted to Alan and the amount of help he’s given.

But no, he just wants to take care of Alan, the way Alan does him. And one way he can do that is by guaranteeing Alan has a hot meal to come home to. And it helps him practice for school.

He’s been trying lots of soups, recently. Possibly because Seattle’s rainy season has already started, the September days going dark and cold earlier and earlier. It always makes Graeme want to eat nothing but soup and do nothing but snuggle up on the couch and knit. Which would be why he also started a sweater for Alan last week. The fall season means he can knock out huge projects because he’s so motivated.

Tonight it’s borscht, and a lot of it, so when he sees on his phone that Alan is on his way home from work, he packs some up and meets Alan’s car on the street. He opens the passenger door, calling out a brief hello to a surprised Alan before settling into a conversation with Hendrick, in which he plies Hendrick with a container of borscht for his lovely wife and him to share. Hendrick accepts the borscht, and Graeme accepts a fatherly pat on the back, and then Graeme’s back out in the rain, being swept into Alan’s arms for an extended kiss.

“Well hello there, Mr. Garry.”

“Hello yourself, Mr. Webster.” Alan reaches down to goose his ass, a sure sign that his day hadn’t been too heavy, for which Graeme is grateful.

They lock hands for the elevator ride up, and all the way to the apartment. Once inside, Alan presses him to the door, kissing the hell out of him again as the cats twine around their legs.

“Did you have a good day?” Graeme asks, a little breathless.

“I did. And the apartment smells amazing and I’m a billion times more in love with you than yesterday, and everything is great.” Alan sweeps him into another kiss. “Are you nervous about going back tomorrow?”

Graeme chews on his lip, then lets out a sigh. “Would I be the person you know and love if I wasn’t?”

“Touche.” Alan presses a kiss to his forehead. “Okay, well. Since I had such a good day, and you have a tough one tomorrow, it’s my turn to do the comfort and care thing, okay?”

Graeme lets himself crack a small smile. “This is me not protesting.”

 

Over steaming bowls of the deep pink soup, Alan nudges him. “You mentioned something about wanting to talk on the spreadsheet earlier?”

Alan catches him mid-bite, and he savors the piece of bacon in his mouth before answering. “Yeah, um. I’m not quite sure how to, um, say this.”

Alan takes his hand, squeezing, bolstering.

“I’ve been thinking, lately, about wearing the collar — or _a_ collar — full time.” He looks up to meet Alan’s eyes anxiously. “I know you said, at the start, that you weren’t into the more lifestyle aspects of BDSM…”

“I— I’m not. I don’t want you, or anyone else, thinking that you’re my slave.” Alan’s fingers reach up to play over the bare skin of Graeme’s neck. “I don’t want a vow for subservience in all things. So let’s compromise. What do you want from it?”

“I want—” Graeme takes a deep breath, blows it out. “I want to be reminded of your love for me. I want the reminder that you’re my Dom, even if it’s not a lifestyle thing. I don’t want you to make all the decisions for me, but wearing a collar at events has been...amazing. And I feel like wearing it all the time would be...a reminder that there’s always someone in this world who cares about me, no matter how down or anxious I’m feeling. You’ll be there for me, and you care, and you love me.”

He’s surprised himself into tears, and he swipes at them as he takes another nervous spoonful of soup.

“I fucking love you.” Alan reaches out, tipping Graeme’s face back toward him and wiping at his wet cheeks himself. “And I care, and I’ll be there. And if that’s why you want to wear a collar all the time, I’m happy to offer you one.”

“Yeah?”

Alan’s face warms, and he presses their lips together. “Yeah. Do you...do you want to do a whole ceremony and everything?”

They’ve watched a collaring ceremony at an event, and have been invited, as a couple, to a few private parties for them.

“I think I’d rather it be just between us.”

“Have you been looking at day collars, or do you want me to choose something I think would work for you?”

“Would it be too much in the territory you don’t like to say yes, I’d like you to choose something?”

Alan swipes his thumb over Graeme’s cheek. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t feel comfortable offering, baby. I’d love to choose something pretty for you to wear to remind you all day that I’m here for you.”

Pleasure washes through Graeme even as his skin darkens. “Thank you.”

Alan squeezes his knee. “Thank you for dinner, it’s wonderful. I’m not even that big into beets.”

“Give me the winter, I’ll change your opinion,” Graeme offers with a broad smile, the tender moment passing into something lighter though just as loving.

 

School takes over Graeme’s life for the rest of the week. It’s a much different experience, now that he’s taking four classes instead of just one, and he uses, and possibly abuses, the student tutoring center like he’d learned to do in his first quarter before the summer. Clarissa also ups his med dosage a little bit, just to see if it helps him cope better. It seems to; he doesn’t feel quite like he’s shaking apart from anxiety in every class, now. He jumps a little less at barked orders in the kitchen lab, too. He’s getting the groove, he thinks, and the summer at _Cerulean Persimmon_ helped that a lot.

That doesn’t necessarily mean he _likes_ working in a commercial kitchen, but at least he’s building up a tolerance, it seems.

Planning a charity gala — hell, designing a charity from the ground up —  is keeping Alan occupied as well, and when they’re both home, they often don’t have time for much with each other beyond throwing together something for dinner and cuddling on the couch and falling asleep at an early enough time that Graeme is wondering if he skipped the rest of his 20s and went straight to 80.

Which gets him picturing them at 80, or he supposes, 80 and 90, all wrapped up on the couch enjoying their time together.

It’s a future Graeme wants so badly it’s almost palpable, a future he never would have thought possible for himself 9 months ago. Everything just — it just works so well, and Graeme wants to freeze time and keep them here and make sure they have this forever.

Because they’re so busy, Graeme actually forgets his request for collaring until Friday night of the second week of school, when Alan brings it up again, setting a large clam-shell jewelry box in his lap as he knits. Graeme’s hands falter, and he looks up, his heart beating wildly, and watches Alan sit beside him, his mouth slightly agape.

Alan reaches over and opens the clam-shell, it’s hinges creaking minutely in the quiet of the apartment. “Graeme Webster, will you wear my collar?”

It’s gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous, the pretty white gold color matching the hoops Alan gave him for his nipples a few weeks ago. It’s a simple circle of the gold, skirting the line between masculine and feminine just as Graeme does himself often. It clasps at the bottom in a small padlock that looks like it’s made of something sturdier than the gold. The key lies to the side, winking up at him.

It’s perfect, and his fingers tremble as they trace over it. He looks over at Alan with longing. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

“Will you submit to me during scenes?”

“Yes.”

Alan takes the collar from the box and brings it up around Graeme’s neck. “Will you allow me to take care of you?”

“Yes,” Graeme whispers as Alan works the lock. He closes it, and lets the collar fall from its own weight. It’s not too tight, but Graeme’s reminded of that weight when he swallows, the band bobbing with his Adam’s apple, the lock pressing against his skin.

“Will you be my equal partner in this relationship?”

Graeme raises his fingers to trace over the gold band again. They stop at the lock, feeling it closed, a sense of finality settling over him. “Yes. God, yes.”

Alan’s lips brush over his neck, finding the collar and sucking a mark just beneath it. “I— um.”

“Yeah?” Graeme asks, a little breathless.

“I really like how that looks on you, turns out.” Alan draws Graeme’s hand down to where he’s half-stiff in his pants.

“You like knowing I’m yours?” Graeme whispers seductively.

“Yes.”

“Good. Me, too.” He bares his neck, drawing Alan in for more.

Instead, though, he’s surprised when Alan lifts him up and starts taking him back to the bedroom. “I’m going to fuck you.”

Graeme grins, even though his eyes still feel a little watery.

“Actually, no. You’re going to ride me, baby boy.” He drops Graeme down on the bed, already working at his own clothes.

Graeme starts to shimmy out of his shirt, careful as always not to rip at his nipple piercings, then tugs his pants and boxers down and off and away, getting naked in record time. He’s just tossing the clothes off the bed when Alan joins him, naked and hard, lube in hand. They kneel together on the bed, and Alan reaches out to trace over the collar, then his nipple piercings.

“I’m going to get a chain that connects these to your collar, and I’m going to tug you around by it.”

“Fuck, Daddy—”

“Shh, baby boy, Daddy’s got you.” Alan pops the cap of the lube, pushing on Graeme’s chest at the same time to get him to lay down. Graeme complies easily, his eyes drinking in the look of dominance and care Alan’s giving him. He’s high on that feeling, that look.

Alan’s mouth consumes his at the same time that one of his fingers begins to nudge along Graeme’s rim. He’s tight; it _has_ been awhile, he supposes. He squirms, trying to readjust so Alan’s fingers go deep, but Alan throws a leg over him, locking him in position, keeping him still as he starts to fuck his fingers inside.

Graeme’s overcome with pleasure and emotion; tears that had sprung up during their impromptu ceremony spill onto his cheeks now as Alan grazes over his prostate.

“I’ve got you,” Alan whispers again against his lips.

Graeme feels the truth of that statement in his very soul, crying harder when Alan’s free hand brushes over his cheeks at the wetness there.

“Color, baby?”

“Gr—gr—green,” Graeme sobs, unable to control himself anymore. He lets everything loose, because he _can,_ because Alan’s made him a safe space.

“Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh, baby, it’s okay, it’s all right, Daddy loves you.” Alan rolls them so Graeme is laying on top of him, face buried in Alan’s neck, wetting it. Alan’s hand rubs over his back even as he keeps two fingers inside him. “I’ve got you right here. You’re okay. I love you. I love you.”

“‘M sorry.” Graeme’s just sniffling now, embarrassment flooding in in the wake of the tears.

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling emotions, Graeme,” Alan says seriously, breaking the scene and wrapping his arms around him.

They lay like that for a few moments as Graeme calms, resting cheek to cheek, Alan whispering about how amazing he is in his ear. Eventually, Graeme moves a little, slipping their mouths together again. He gives Alan another positive color check, one Alan seems more likely to believe this time around.

Graeme scoots back when Alan urges his hips to move, positioning him over his cock and slicking everything up. “Ride me, baby. Take your pleasure.”

Graeme whimpers as he feels the head of Alan’s cock at his entrance. He sinks down, swearing he feels fuller in this position. They’ve experimented with toys that are bigger than Alan, yes, but there’s nothing like the feel of Alan’s cock inside him. He’s warm the way a dildo isn’t, yielding yet hard. Graeme can feel the pulse of him inside when they’re so intimately connected.

His fingers work over Alan’s chest, burying themselves in his chest hair and finding purchase so that he can move himself on Alan’s cock. He rolls his hips in little circles that keep the pressure on his prostate, feeling Alan’s fingers dig into his hips to give him momentum. The noises coming from Graeme’s mouth are absurd — he’s lost his mind to the sex, the pleasure, the love, like he always does. It’s the perfect moment, his pulse beating against his collar, ratta-tatting along with the rhythm of their movements.

Alan pushes himself up, wrapping his arms around Graeme and holding them like that in some move probably only made possible by extensive yoga. He may not have a six-pack, or even a two-pack, but Alan’s core is freakishly strong. Regardless, the position shoves Alan’s cock even deeper into Graeme, and his own cock grazes over Alan’s skin, and just like that, he’s coming, quaking in Alan’s arms. With a groan, mouthing over the collar, Alan comes with him, spilling into Graeme so that he’s marked inside and out.

Thoroughly Alan’s.


	4. Role-Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now Alan's ready for a big step in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Alan continues to work on his charity, the child abuse reference content warning should just continue to carry over for the rest of the work.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Early October/ October 18

| 

Fucking Machine | ~~Latex~~ | **Role Reversal** | ~~Xenophilia~~

| 

_You know, one of the other players at the yoga club has a fucking machine and brings it to events sometime. I could maybe ask her about it. — A_

  


_Wait that’s not some sci-fi bullshit writing prompt? Those things actually exist? — G_

  


_I don’t know how I feel about that — G_

  


_Well, I have another idea… — A_  
  
“Are you sure about this? I mean, color?” 

“I’m sure. Green. I want this. I want you. I want you to give this to me.” Alan’s hands play suggestively over Graeme’s cock. 

Graeme involuntarily rocks into Alan’s hand. “Okay. Okay. Sure.” 

“Are  _ you _ sure about this?” 

“Yeah. Green. Fuck.” 

Alan cups Graeme’s face, pressing a kiss to his nose. “It’s okay to be nervous, your first time topping.” 

“I just don’t want to like, fuck you up, or fuck this up, or fuck us up…” 

“You’re not going to do any of those things, I know it.” 

Graeme’s hasty swallow has his collar — the bright orange one they use for scenes — bobbing. “I shouldn’t be the nervous one, here.” 

It’s a ridiculous statement, and Alan wants to say so, but won’t hurt Graeme’s feelings. Instead, he brings him in for another kiss. “Do you want me to tell you what to do? Top from the bottom, so to speak?” 

“Yes!” Graeme squeaks, looking horribly embarrassed. Alan’s not sure he could love him more. 

Alan draws them back, letting his head rest against the pillows and his knees flop apart. “Well. I like to start with kissing.” 

Graeme rolls his eyes. Alan can practically hear the word “Duh” pass through his mind. “Oh really? Alan Garry likes kissing? I didn’t know.” 

“Smartass.” Alan grins, because if Graeme’s quipping, he’s not going to be so focused on his nerves. 

Sure enough, Graeme straddles him, pressing him down into the mattress and covering him with his body. His mouth is hot on Alan’s, the nerves making him a little fast, a little desperate. It’s still sweet as ever, though, Alan licking up into his mouth and taking what he wants. 

And yes, he likes kissing, but it’s obvious it relaxes Graeme, because he’s the one that makes the next move, pressing kisses over Alan’s beard and down his neck, then across his chest. He bites at one of Alan’s nipples, making Alan jump a little. 

“Color?” 

“Green, but, uh, remember, I don’t like pain the way you do.” 

“Right.” He nuzzles into Alan’s chest hair instead, making doe eyes up at him. “What should I do next, Daddy?” 

_ Christ, he’s going to be the death of me, _ Alan thinks quickly. “You can keep going, baby boy. Just be careful.” 

Graeme gives him a little Cheshire grin before dipping lower, laving into the indent of his belly button. It makes Alan’s stomach swoop, watching his boyfriend  _ enjoy _ him so much. Any chance at self-consciousness has long since been swept away by Graeme’s sweet desire. 

He nuzzles over Alan’s hip, burying his nose in Alan’s curls before mouthing over the base of Alan’s cock. “Just like that, baby, perfect,” Alan mutters on an exhale. “Just like that. So good.”

It’s not the first time Graeme’s sweet tongue has worked its way over his balls, down his perineum, and around his rim, but that doesn’t make it any less new, any less overwhelmingly wonderful. Graeme is soft and sweet, gentle with him because he knows exactly how to treat Alan right. After a few moments, though, Graeme rests his head on Alan’s thigh and looks up at him expectantly. 

“Time for more, baby. Open me up, nice and slow.” 

Graeme kneels between his legs, reaching for the lube bottle and short-stopping a kiss over Alan’s cheek on the way back down. “Remember my first time, Daddy?” The tip of his index finger swipes over Alan’s hole, working it open. 

“How could I forget?” 

Graeme grins. “You’ve had me a dozen other ways since then, so I thought maybe you forgot.” 

“Never.” Alan reaches out, his hand tangling with the one Graeme isn’t using inside him. “You were tight, and hot, and perfect. Still are.” 

“I’d never trusted anyone to do that before.” Graeme’s voice sounds a little small, and when Alan looks down, he sees that Graeme isn’t looking at him, but at where his finger is disappearing inside Alan’s body. 

“I trust you, baby.” It’s nothing short of the truth, and Alan feels the statement deeply inside him. He can see it wash over Graeme, too, like a balm. 

Graeme finally meets his eyes again, and they look stronger than before. “I’m going to take as good care of you as you do me. How are you feeling?” 

“Like you could give me another finger,” Alan replies with a wink, glad Graeme seems a little more confident than before. 

“Naughty Daddy.” Graeme grins as he slides another well-lubed finger in alongside the other, letting Alan feel the pleasant burn of the stretch on his rim. 

His fingers brush against Alan’s prostate, and his whole body jerks. “Oh, oh shit, I forgot how that felt. It’s been way too long.” 

“Awww.” Graeme presses a kiss to Alan’s knee — he’d raised it in surprise, trying to take Graeme deeper, when Graeme swept over his prostate. “Poor Daddy, no one to take care of you.” 

“Good thing I have my— ah— my baby boy to take care of me then, huh?” 

“Wanna make you feel good.” Graeme’s voice is low, husky, sexy beyond all belief. Alan hadn’t been sure if he’d be able to come like this, but Graeme’s tone has him halfway there already, and then there’s the fact that he keeps nailing Alan’s prostate like it’s going out of style. 

“Oooohhhhkay, fuck me, baby, fuck Daddy now. I’m ready.” 

Graeme sits back, kneeling between Alan’s sprawled legs, and slowly strokes lube onto his cock. Alan bites down into his lip, the slightest amount of trepidation entering his heart before being banished by the sweet love so obviously present on Graeme’s face. Graeme’s not his ex; he’s never going to hurt Alan, not if he can help it, and that promise is so clear to Alan right now that some final piece inside him relaxes and gives himself over to Graeme. 

Graeme’s hand is a little shaky as he guides himself to Alan’s entrance. Alan reaches out, squeezing his arm in reassurance. “You can do this, baby boy. You’re going to be amazing. Perfect.” 

Alan had expected himself to tense up at the first touch, to flash back to his ex or something. Instead, he holds Graeme’s shaky hand and helps him guide his cock inside, and he has to pay too much — just enough — attention to Graeme to really be transported back. He holds Graeme steady, keeps their eyes locked, as Graeme slowly enters him, opens him, bottoms out in a way that has Alan feeling fucking full and on the edge of something amazing. 

And then, with his hand still shaking in Alan’s, Graeme leans forward, kisses his forehead, and whispers, “Color? Is everything okay?” 

“Perfect. Green.” Brushing his lips over Graeme’s orange collar, Alan wraps his arms around Graeme’s body, then his legs, too. “You’re doing such a good job with me.” 

“You’re— it’s— god, you’re so tight and—” Graeme buries his face in Alan’s chest, panting. “Can I move, Daddy?” 

He asks the question on a squeak, his voice breaking adorably. “Fuck me,” Alan commands, angling his hips up. 

Graeme’s first thrusts are experimental as he gets used to the sensation, the movement. He huffs, gripping at Alan’s hips and trying first shallow, then deeper, longer strokes. The looks of absolute concentration on his face makes Alan want to kiss him senseless, but he has a feeling Graeme would be too distracted to kiss right now. He’s too focused — or maybe just the right amount of focused — on bringing Alan pleasure and not causing him any discomfort. 

“That’s it, baby boy. That’s perfect, just like that. So good. Stroke me a little. The way you like it, remember?” 

With a grunt, Graeme reaches down between their bodies and takes Alan in hand, stroking over his cock in time with his thrusts. Alan groans, nipping at Graeme’s earlobe, then sucking a mark under his ear that has Graeme whimpering and thrusting faster. 

“You can do it. Come for me. Come inside me.” 

Graeme seems to whine one last time, looking a little upset that Alan isn’t right there with him, but in the next moment he’s still, spilling inside Alan, his face euphoric. 

“So good. Did such a good job,” Alan automatically praises, running his hands down Graeme’s back. 

“You didn’t come.” Graeme breath is hot at the juncture of his neck. 

“Well, not yet—” he manages before Graeme is slipping out of him and crawling down his body again. 

“I know this works, Daddy.” Graeme winks up at him before licking right over his stretched hole, thrusting two fingers in alongside his tongue and stroking over his prostate. Alan feels his toes start to tingle with his oncoming orgasm, and he curls them into the bed sheets, lifting to give Graeme better access. To tip him over the edge, Graeme moves from his hole to his cock, sucking at the head while he fingers him. It’s perfectly too much, sending Alan over easily. Graeme takes it greedily, swallowing everything with an exultant look on his face. 

“C’mere.” Alan’s voice is husky, making Graeme smile, but what makes Alan happiest is when Graeme crawls back into his arms. He will never get over cuddling with his boy. “I love you so much, Graeme.” 

“I did okay?” 

Alan hates the smallness of Graeme’s voice. “You did perfectly. I’m so lucky you’re mine, and I’m yours.” 

Contented, Graeme melts into his embrace once again. 

 

Alan shifts in his seat again.  _ God, it really has been a long time, hasn’t it, Garry? _ He tries to make himself more comfortable, inconspicuously, as Mal continues to read the information they’d gathered on the charity in Portland they’re visiting today. 

“Everything all right, boss?” Mal asks with a wry grin on their face. 

Alan is fairly sure he manages to keep his face from flaming up as Hendrick gives him the  _ eyes _ in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, you know how much I hate sitting for this long. Should have taken the train to Portland. No offense, Hendrick.” He taps on his knees and looks out the window, watching the gray-green blur of the I-5 corridor go by. 

“None taken, Garry.” Hendrick accelerates, passing a semi spitting off a blinding spray of water. 

“Okay, I’m sorry, Mal, can you repeat the information our accountant dug up? I’d like to talk to the director about their grants and sustained funding.” 

Mal gives him a comforting pat on the knee and continues to read off their tablet. 

 

“This is the schooling area. Mostly used for tutoring the teens, but we have a licensed teacher on staff should any situation require that they can’t go to school. Of course, our goal is to get all of the children to school on time, every day, but the court system rarely accommodates the school’s schedule.” 

Alan looks in on the small room, painted with the alphabet and number lines and Dr. Seuss characters. It’s empty, right now, except for one small boy reading on a bean bag in the corner. The boy’s fingers grip his book tightly, some long chapter book that looks way too advanced for his age but hey, he’d started reading Michael Crichton in 4th grade so who is he to judge? As Alan watches, the boy lifts his hand up and brushes his hair out of his eye — his black eye. Just like that, Alan’s thrown back to the past, to Tommy. He takes a deep breath in and out through his nose, refocusing away from the boy and suddenly noticing the reflection of Dr. Samara in the glass. Her bright pink hijab stands out, as does her thoughtful look. 

“If you’d like to continue to my office?” 

Alan breaks away from the window. “Of course.” He gives the boy one last glance and turns to follow. “You have an amazing facility,” Alan says as they walk into Dr. Samara’s office, meaning nothing but the truth. He watches as a few teenagers play basketball on the blacktop outside the huge windows gracing one wall. 

She smiles, offering her hand. “Thank you. We’ve worked very hard.” 

“It shows,” Mal assures her, shaking her hand after Alan does. 

“That established, I don’t want this next question to seem like I’m being insulting,” Alan begins. “But if you had to start over again, what would you say is the biggest mistake you’d go back and fix?” 

“Trying not to reinvent the wheel?” Dr. Samara asks with a smile. 

“Basically. We’re amassing the funds, working out all of the legal stuff, searching for a good facility space. But I’d love any advice you could give me from the start.” 

She gives him an assessing look. “I believe you want to help, Mr. Garry. It is not enough for me to believe it, though. You need to find someone, local to the community you wish to serve. Without a ‘goodwill ambassador’ of sorts, you’re not going to get very far.” 

Mal scribbles furiously on their tablet as Alan nods. “I don’t want to seem like I’m an outsider coming in and telling them what to do.” 

“Precisely. It’s one of the biggest lessons we learned here early on. If they think that, they won’t view this as a safe space, and ultimately, that’s what we want.” 

“Yes, of course. That’s— very enlightening, thank you. And thank you for not just writing me off.” 

“Your reputation precedes you. Mr. Thompson, from the Seattle Children’s Haven? He said you’ve been working with him and asked me personally to take your call. You’re doing the right thing, Mr. Garry. Not overstepping your bounds. I’ll make sure to send you and your assistant copies of that paperwork we talked about.” 

Mal nods their head. “Thanks, Dr. Samara.” 

 

“About what Dr. Samara said, about getting an insider? I might know someone. A college friend. He’s working in the Los Angeles area right now but he mentioned recently that he actually misses the rain. Background in social work and community organization.” Mal taps their phone, then holds up a picture. “Gustavo, or Goose. Want me to get in contact with him? He’s from the neighborhood.” 

“Yeah, see if he’s interested, and if he is, have him send me his resume.” Alan leans back, letting his eyes close.  _ It’s coming together, Tommy. _

 

Graeme’s texts had kept him company on the entire return trip back, slogging through traffic, but Alan’s still tired by the time he’s letting himself into the apartment. Looking over at Graeme, bundled up in an oversized sweater and knitting on the couch, is like a soothing balm after the emotionally hard day. Graeme calls a greeting, but doesn’t look up, concentrating on the row he’s completing. It makes Alan sigh in the best way possible, leaning against the door and letting himself just look. 

Graeme finishes the row and finally looks up with a smile. Whatever he sees on Alan’s face has him setting the knitting aside and simply, silently, opening his arms. 

Alan doesn’t remember setting his backpack down and crossing the room, but then he’s in Graeme’s arms, his face buried in Graeme’s neck, the metallic warmth of the white gold collar pressing against his cheek. 

When Alan’s finally ready to speak, what comes out of his mouth surprises him. “It’s really hard, but I need to keep doing it. Does that make sense?” 

“Perfectly,” Graeme replies. “That’s life. Sometimes it’s really fucking hard, but we need to keep doing it anyway.” 

Alan leans back, sees that Graeme’s eyes seem to be gazing out into the distance of his own past. Placing a single kiss on his brow, he hugs Graeme tighter, taking comfort and giving it.


	5. Public Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy (early) Halloween!
> 
> Not too much plot, just a lot of fluff and smut for this Halloween episode. :)

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Halloween!/October 19

| 

**Public** | Formal Wear | Straitjacket | Cock-Warming

| 

_Masquerade party at the Dungeon always promises a wild night if we want to go the public sex route — A_

  


_We’re talking the Dungeon, the one KIRO news did a report on, that you’ve previously insisted is way too public and fast and loose with who they let in, and so you want to protect us from the gossip blogs and protect our reputation in general by not playing there. — G_

  


_Not that I object. — G_

  


_Well, it’s a masquerade. We’d be wearing masks with our costumes. — A_

  


_Oh, because a mask protects your identity perfectly. — G_

  


_Smartass. It works on Arrow. And also Supergirl doesn’t even need a mask and no one recognizes her. We could just put glasses on you and take them off me. — A_

  


_Now who’s being the smartass — G_

  


_Isn’t the point of Halloween to step out of our comfort zone a bit? Try something we might not otherwise? — A_

  


_I never saw the point of Halloween, really — G_

  


_Oh. My. God. — A_  
  
It’s only a matter of hours — the hours needed for Alan to get home and Graeme to get back from school — after  _ that _ revelation that Alan’s dragging him to the costume store downtown. 

Graeme squirms at the window display. Everything looks so...elegant. “I can just grab something from Goodwill. That’s what I normally do if I’m actually doing anything on Halloween. I can, like, be a slutty pizza slice or something.” 

“If you want to go to the Dungeon masquerade, you have to be willing to spend a little money. Or in this case, a little of your sugar daddy’s money.” 

Graeme immediately stops squirming and gives Ala a _stare._ He  _ never _ calls himself Graeme’s sugar daddy, especially in public. And sure, there’s a small trace of a blush over Alan’s cheeks, but he’s looking pretty confident, which Graeme enjoys wholeheartedly. 

“So you really get into this whole Halloween thing, huh?” 

Alan takes his hand, leading them inside. “Okay, well. I’ll let you have a pass since I haven’t taken you to my parents’ house yet, but my dad has, like, a full garage of Halloween decorations. My mom makes him limit it to just the month of October, and he has to have them down by Veteran’s Day. Sometimes I go down to help him put it all up, but I missed it this year because I was in Chicago for that charity research. I’ll take you down to see it.” 

Graeme’s still sad he couldn’t make the trip to Chicago with Alan, but homework has been keeping him insanely busy. “Mike Garry is into Halloween?” He thinks of the man he’s met a dozen times now at least, who’s always wearing old athletic clothes and talking about his golf game. 

“Well, you know, he was a theater guy for a while.” 

“Mike Garry was a  _ theater guy?!”  _

“Obviously I haven’t given you enough time with my dad, who is awesome and weird and quirky.” 

“Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree then, huh?” Graeme pokes Alan in the side, laughing when Alan catches his wayward hand and pulls him in for a quick kiss. 

“I’ll let that slide because I’ve called myself all of those things. What about this one?” Alan pulls out something that looks like it might have belonged to a courtier for some old French king or someone. 

Graeme’s fingers slide over the velvet, longing. “If you’re going to fuck me in it, we probably shouldn’t break the bank. Can you imagine this velvet touching the floor of the Dungeon?” 

“They keep it clean or I wouldn’t suggest going.” 

“Oh, and do  _ you _ keep me clean?” 

Alan’s mouth closes, then lifts in a rueful smile. “Point.” Still, he settles the outfit over his arm anyway. “Just to try on.” 

Graeme looks at him suspiciously, then even more so when he piles his arms with four more costumes he thinks would look good on Graeme. “What about something for you?” 

“Oh, I’m getting there. I want to get you squared away first, and then I’ll find something that goes with yours.” He walks off, searching intently, as Graeme shakes his head. 

Graeme’s turning to follow when he spots something from across the room. With a quick glance, he’s satisfied that Alan isn’t looking, then walks over and asks one of the attendants to put the costume he’d spotted in a room for him along with whatever his boyfriend wants him to try on. 

When it comes to changing, though, Graeme goes immediately to the back of the rack and pulls out the costume he’d seen across the way. He smooths over the folds of fabric, cinching the belt and pulling the robe over himself. He turns around in the mirror, checking to see if the costume is granting easy access since he has a feeling Alan is going to be...excited. Does he know his man? Oh yes, yes he does. 

He swings open the dressing room door. “What do you think?” 

Alan looks up at his phone, and it’s like Graeme can actually see his eyes glaze over. “Uh. That wasn’t in the stack.” 

Graeme crosses his arms as he leans against the door jamb, wiggling his bare toes. Alan’s eyes immediately go to them, watching as the pink nails shine in the light of the dressing room. 

“What do you think, Master?” Graeme repeats, warmth spreading through his body at the dumbfounded expression on Alan’s face. 

The word ‘master’ seems to break something in him though, because then Alan is crowding up against him, reaching around and closing the dressing room door. Closing them in. With his body pressed up against Graeme’s in the Jedi costume. 

Alan had confessed his huge crush on Ewan McGregor’s Obi-Wan to Graeme long ago. Graeme’s only happy to indulge him in the fantasy. 

“So?” Graeme prompts again as Alan bites his neck under the collar of the robe, near his white-gold chain. 

“So, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking, to be honest. It’s possibly the nerdiest fucking thing I’ve ever thought.” 

“That’s a pretty high bar. Try me.” 

Alan kisses him, the kind of kiss that leaves him breathless and wanting. “I was thinking, suddenly I understand why Anakin violated the orders against personal involvement.” He slides his hands down, cupping Graeme’s ass through the soft fabric of the Jedi pants. “I never got it. Like, keep it in your pants, Anakin, ‘cause, you know, Ace talking here.” 

“And now?” Graeme asks with a laugh. 

“And now, I could fuck you against this mirror and die happy, so yeah.” 

“Just no killing any younglings for me.” 

“Well yeah, I’m not  _ that _ far gone.” 

“So what do you think, Master? Can I be your pada-whatever?” 

“Padawan. You obviously need some serious training.” Alan’s body presses him fully against the mirror, his mouth taking what he wants from Graeme. 

“You’re such a fucking nerd.” 

“And you’re a nerd that’s going to get fucked, so, you know, poetic justice or whatever.” 

 

Graeme’s jaw drops as an honest-to-God Pinhead from Hellraiser walks by, complete with the skin-nails. He nervously readjusts his mask. “Okay, I don’t think I believed you when you told me how seriously people took Halloween here at the Dungeon.”  

“Hey, look, we’re not the only one with Star Wars costumes.” Alan nods across the floor, where a Hutt-Slayer Leia is leading an equally-scantily clad Han around on a leash. Leia stops, forcing her sub to heel and worship her thigh-high metallic gold boots. 

All in all, Graeme has found he likes the yoga studio much more than places like the Dungeon. There’s something homey and community-like about the yoga studio. He knows the owners now, and most of the people who come and play. It’s closer-knit, whereas the Dungeon is more well-known. The Dungeon is the kind of place a newbie might come, fresh from reading bad BDSM on their tablet and wanting to experiment. And it’s not that Graeme begrudges them their explorations one bit; after all, that’s what he’s doing here. More that he doesn’t like when his own play gets interrupted by someone who doesn’t know the rules. He sticks more closely to Alan’s side at the Dungeon than he does at the yoga studio — there are some very poorly trained Doms out there. Theoretically he shouldn’t be bothered — he’s wearing a new collar, one of braided leather that matches his boots, and the collar should be enough signal to anyone in the know that Graeme is not up for grabs. 

That doesn’t always stop assholes from trying something with him, though. 

Case in point, someone grabs his ass on the way to the bathroom, then pushes him up against the wall. He’s a millisecond away from calling for a DM and Alan, though probably not in that order, and lifting his knee up to punt this guy’s balls up his throat and into the sun, when the drunk is pulled off of him and tossed away by a large, extremely colorful rainbow merman. The juxtaposition is strange enough to have Graeme blinking, even as he realizes he  _ knows _ the merman. 

“István? You look...amazing!” 

“Graeme!” He pulls Graeme in for a hug and two cheek kisses, his rainbow wig brushing against Graeme’s mask. Graeme’s fairly sure he’ll have glitter left behind from István, but he also firmly believes that a night where you come home with glitter that doesn’t belong to you is a night worth living. “I swear, men are the worst. I’m sure you could have taken care of yourself, but I had a better angle.” He looks over to where a DM is carting the drunk out of the club, and shoots him a one-fingered salute with a laughing sneer. 

“I don’t even know how you managed that with your, um, tail.” 

“Oh, well…” István moves sideways, and one of his bare legs comes completely out of a slit on the side of the glittery rainbow merman skirt. He’s wearing a set of killer stilettos, and there’s glitter...everywhere.

“You seriously look amazing. I’ve been realizing all night that I’m going to have to step up my game next year. Wait, how’d you recognize me?” 

“I saw the picture you snapped earlier, silly. Don’t worry, you and Alan are very incognito.” István straightens Graeme’s robe where it had been disturbed by the drunk. “Besides, you look good! This is nice material. You look way comfier than I feel.” 

“Sex or comfort, though?”

“It’s man’s greatest conundrum, that’s for sure. Although by the way Alan is looking at you, I don’t think you’re going to have to choose.” István nods over Graeme’s shoulder, and Graeme turns to see Alan and Clark, who’s dressed as Prince Eric, headed their way. 

Alan’s frowning, looking concerned, and he takes Graeme into his arms immediately when he reaches them. “Are you okay? The DM just told me about what happened.” 

“I’m fine. What’s a little brawl to a padawan?” Graeme replies, intentionally trying to go for light and funny. 

“A  _ brawl?” _

“Well, okay, more like a little assault. That was quickly dealt with. With help from István.”

Alan’s hold on him is still bone-crushing. “Thank you, István. I’m glad you’re both okay. I love the sights but man, masquerade night at the Dungeon has gotten a little too unsafe for me.” 

Curled up against Clark even though he’s towering over him in his heels, István rolls his eyes and nudges Alan with his shoulder. “Your boy can take care of himself. It’s over and done, and you said it yourself, we’re both okay. Time to have some fun now.” 

Graeme circles his arms around Alan’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss. “Yeah. It’s already forgotten. Let’s have some fun. Dance with me?” 

He can still feel guilt rolling off Alan in waves, so he takes the initiative, pulling him to the dance floor. István and Clark settle in beside them, though Graeme and István have almost as much fun dancing together as they let their Doms watch. Alan seems to be finally coming down from the stress of what happened earlier, which lets Graeme relax a little more, too. 

He grinds his ass against István’s cock — though he’s fairly sure the merman has it tucked and taped. It hardly matters since Graeme’s being held open by one of his favorite plugs, and any movement back there is a fucking joy. 

István seems to know what’s up, because he kisses Graeme’s cheek and spins him in a circle back around to Alan, winking with one of his gloriously-lashed eyes before taking Clark’s arms again. 

“Welcome back, padawan,” Alan rumbles, his tone both censuring and teasing. 

“I’d never stray far, Master.” Graeme shivers as Alan’s hands stroke down his body, coming to rest on his hips and help him grind against Alan’s cock. The movement jostles the plug inside Graeme again and again, making him even shakier with want. He stumbles at a particularly hard press from Alan, gasping as he feels precum leak into his pants. 

“Steady.” Alan undercuts his remark by picking Graeme up in his arms and walking off the dance floor. There’s a lounge area, filled with couches, loveseats, and armchairs, all brimming with people in various states of undress in the middle of a variety of sex acts. 

Alan sits them down in one of the armchairs, soft and cushy but made from easily cleanable materials. Out of the corner of his eye, Graeme sees someone wiping down a couch to clean up after themselves. 

“You ready for this? Color?” 

Graeme raises a considering brow at his surroundings. It’s not the yoga studio, so it’s not home. And it’s not the apartment. Sex here definitely qualifies as ‘public’, or as public as Graeme ever wants to get — although if Alan wants to revisit the blow job on the side of the road, Graeme’s not going to stop him. 

His heart speeds up as he nods, biting into his lip. “Yeah. Green.” 

The thing about it is that it’s not even going to be that much of a show, not with their layers. But that’s okay. Graeme can put on a show for his compatriots at the yoga studio. The Dungeon, who can’t keep out trash that don’t respect the collar? Well, they don’t deserve his show. 

Except he’s surprised when Clark and István come sit next to them. István somehow manages to curl up in Clark’s lap despite being bigger than the Dom, and they both smile at them. “Color?” Clark asks softly, pressing a kiss to István’s cheek. 

The intensity of Clark’s eyes makes Graeme blush, and feel shy, and he buries his face in Alan’s neck. Alan’s hand comes up, stroking over the collar. “They’ll go away if we ask, baby,” he murmurs so low only Graeme can hear. 

“I’m—” Graeme steals a glance over at Clark and István again. They’re kissing right now, letting Alan and Graeme come to their decision privately. “I’m green if you are.” 

“You’re the sweetest thing, you know that, right?” Alan presses a kiss to his cheek, then turns back to their friends. “We’re green. No touching, but vocal encouragement is appreciated. Graeme loves to be told what a good baby boy he’s being.” 

“You do a good job for your Daddy, don’t you, Graeme?” It’s István teasing him this time, his voice a little commanding. Graeme realizes with a start that he might be a switch, something Graeme had never considered. 

“Baby boy,” Graeme corrects quietly, nuzzling into Alan’s neck. “I’m a good baby boy.” 

“Yes, you are,” Alan affirms. “And I love you.” His next kiss is gentle, loving, not urgent at all. 

“My apologies, baby,” István says lightly. Graeme rests his head on Alan’s shoulder and smiles at István, everything forgiven. 

Alan’s hands creep under his robe, playing over his ass and finding the base of the plug through the cloth. Graeme moans, his eyes darting between Clark and István, the air heavy and expectant. 

“He’s all ready for me, too. I can just slide right in.” He pulls Graeme’s pants down, his ass exposed to the world for a second before the robe falls back into place. Rocking the heel of his hand against the plug, he sweeps at Graeme’s hair so there’s nothing blocking the view of his face for their voyeurs. 

“Look how pretty he is,” Clark murmurs to István, making Graeme blush. 

“He’s such a good little sub. Look at him, so needy for his Daddy.” István’s hand is moving between them, stroking Clark’s cock slowly, almost lazily. 

“He makes the best noises. Music to my ears.” Alan tosses them a grin, then lifts Graeme up to work at his own pants. When Graeme sits back down, the plug nudges against Alan’s bare dick. It takes nothing for Alan to pull the plug out, making Graeme groan as it stretches his rim at the wide point. Then Alan's fingers are pressing inside him, freshening up his lube from a packet in his pants. “Color?” 

“Green,” Graeme whispers in his ear, high on the look he sees in István’s eyes. He moans as Alan slides into him, his eyes closing for the barest of seconds.   


“That’s right, baby. You can take it, can’t you? You’re such a good baby boy, taking it from your Daddy.” István jacks Clark a little faster. 

It never occurred to Graeme that István would be the more vocal of the two. When Graeme goes to subspace, he goes practically silent, never able to keep up with all the dirty talk Alan’s throwing at him. That doesn’t seem to be the same for István, who’s stroking Clark like an expert as Clark practically devours his neck. 

Except maybe he should have kept his musings to himself, because then the full force of Clark turns on him, eyes dark and mysterious. “Make your Daddy feel good, baby.” István echoes him, to devastating effect. 

Graeme’s not going to last long, not like this, with István and Clark egging him on and Alan dicking him so fucking good he can hardly see straight. His fingers scratch into Alan’s jedi robes, and he sits up, feeling him more deeply inside. There’s a hoot of encouragement from both Alan and Clark as Graeme really starts to ride, setting a fast pace that’s brutally perfect on his prostate. 

Alan’s hands squeeze into his hips, slamming him down again and again. “Clark, you and István get to decide when he’s been a good enough boy to come.”

Graeme whines. “Not fair!” 

Alan just grins. “That’s not a color, baby. Use your words.” 

Graeme shakes his head. “Sorry. Still green.” 

“Just whining, huh baby?” István grins. “Maybe you need to learn a little patience.” 

“I’m just— just being a— a good padawan,” Graeme reasons. “You know Anakin’s a whiny— little— baby.” 

Alan snorts, bringing him down for a crushing kiss. “God, I fucking love you.” He turns his head lazily to their friends. “He makes a good point, fellas.” 

“If he can come untouched, he can come,” Clark decides, very diplomatically. 

“I think he just challenged you, baby.” Alan grips his hips harder, enough that there’ll be bruises tomorrow. “Show him how well you ride.” 

It’s short strokes against his prostate that Graeme settles into, his back straight and his fingers clutching at Alan. He lets his eyes close, centering on the feeling of Alan’s cock hard and hot inside him, meditating on the feeling of a dozen eyes on him, watching him enjoy this. Watching him work himself to a peak, to orgasm. He doesn’t have to imagine the look Alan is giving him, though, filled with absolute love and trust and pride. He comes like that, his eyes locked on Alan’s, squeezing like a vise around Alan’s cock and milking him dry. 

He collapses against Alan’s chest, turning his head in time to see István drop to his knees and swallow Clark whole. All Graeme can see is Clark’s fingers threaded in the rainbow wig as it bobs up and down, and then Clark’s coming, too, his eyes drifting over to Graeme and Alan as he does. 

“Does István get to come?” Alan asks, as if he’s asking after the weather. 

“István’s dick is currently caged, so no,” Clark replies, his voice cum-drunk but still commanding. And István demures to him, nodding a little, which is fascinating to Graeme. So a switch, maybe, but a sub for Clark for sure — and isn’t the variation in human sexuality fascinating? 

“You with us, Graeme?” 

Graeme blinks, realizing he’d been staring out into space, thinking about positions and dominance and submission and all that fun stuff. “Yeah, I’m good. Really good. Thirsty, though.” 

Alan works on tucking them both away, cleaning as best he can. “Can I pass you to István and Clark for a little cuddling?” 

Graeme nods his assent, and they figure out a position that’s probably killing Clark’s legs, but it feels good to him at least, cuddled up against their friends. Or whatever they could be defined as. He watches as István and Clark kiss, letting the pleasantness of the sight lull him back down into subspace a little. 

Alan smells faintly of antiseptic when he cuddles Graeme back into his arms again, handing him a water bottle as he steadies him in a standing position. “Want to go home?” 

“Yeah, home would be nice.” Graeme throws his head back to drink the water as if he’s a man dying of thirst. 

“Easy, sweetheart. Small sips are best,” Alan guides softly. 

“Killjoy.” 

Alan’s mouth quirks up. “Thank you two for sharing that with us.” 

“The pleasure was ours. Or it will be,” Clark replies with a wink at István, “Eventually.” 

István rolls his eyes at Clark and smacks him lightly on the pec. “Such a mean dictator of a Dom I have, Graeme. Save me.” 

Graeme laughs, leaning down to kiss first István’s and then Clark’s cheeks. “I think you’ll survive. And the payoff will be worth it. Have a fun night.” 

“Don’t let the ghoulies get you.” István winks, and blows them a kiss as they walk away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike Garry is dedicated to my Uncle, who passed away December of last year, and who was a total Halloween-head.


	6. Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Thanksgiving, and then Dead Week, so Alan comes up with a little something to distract Graeme.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Thanksgiving / October 20

| 

Urophagia | Hot-Dogging | Emeto | **Dirty talk**

| 

_I’m sorry but Hot-Dogging sounds a little too ridiculous for me to take it seriously. — G_  
  
“Graemmmmme!” Linda Garry pulls him in for a tight hug immediately upon opening the door, pressing kisses to both of his cheeks before waving at her son. “Come in, come in, I’m so excited you’re joining us!” 

“What am I, chopped liver?” Alan quips, toting in the big bag of supplies Graeme needs for the food he’s making today. 

Linda blows a raspberry at him as Graeme laughs. “Graeme could probably make chopped liver palatable, right Graeme?”

“Yeah, and Alan even likes it. Remember, honey, the paté I made back two weekends ago?” Graeme keeps up the light tone, trying not to feel overwhelmed as Linda slides an arm around his waist and leads him further into their house. 

It’s Alan and Sam’s childhood home, though renovated. Linda and Mike had refused to let Alan set them up someplace nicer, insisting they liked the neighborhood too much, and everything was within walking distance that they needed, and the sun hit just right on a summer morning on the back porch. So instead, Alan had overseen the kinds of renovations the older couple might need as they aged — a bathroom with more handles, easier stairs, et cetera. 

And — a kitchen with all of the trimmings. Thanksgiving had become exponentially easier with double ovens. 

This is where Linda delivers him, now, after a cursory glance in the living room to see Sam playing Uno with the twins. “Okay, Michael, I brought you a helper.” 

Graeme is surprised when he turns around and Linda has already made herself scarce. 

“Oh, don’t mind her, we figured out our rhythm in the kitchen long ago, and that is: everyone is much happier when she doesn’t try to help, God love her.” Mike pulls Graeme into a side hug, holding up a hand covered in stuffing to keep it from dirtying Graeme. “She and the kids will have a grand time, anyway. And now I have another helper. You have no idea how relieved I was when Rick joined the family. Loving husband, great father, sure. Help in the kitchen on Thanksgiving? Yes, please.” 

Rick laughs as he chops apples up, shaking his head. “I’m glad you’re here too, Graeme. This abuelo likes to boss me around too much.” 

Mike turns back to the stuffing, continuing to mix it. “Did you bring the stuff? I’m so excited about this, you have no idea.” 

It takes about three seconds for Graeme to slide himself into the chatter of the kitchen. He’d been surprised, two months ago, when Mike had shared a Google doc with him — and Ricardo — outlining the dishes for Thanksgiving.  _ “My dad is obsessed with the holidays. Basically October to January are his happy place,”  _ Alan had told him, looking absurdly pleased that his dad had invited Graeme into the fold. 

As recipes and ideas had bounced back and forth on the Google doc, Graeme had been happy to contribute ideas he’d gleaned from school and the Cerulean Persimmon. Suddenly, a time in his life that had mostly meant earning holiday pay now meant all the much more. 

Graeme grins, pulling the tightly sealed container out of the bag Alan had carried in for him. “Did someone call for truffle oil?” He holds the glass up, letting them see the rich looking oil with bits of mushroom. All three men look up, eyes wanting. 

“I’ve never been more proud of my son’s achievements,” Mike says, sounding completely serious. 

Rick nods reverently. “What’s money for if you can’t indulge in truffle oil?” 

“Right?” Graeme sets in on the counter, their secret ingredient for the mashed potatoes this year. Mike gives the lid a little pat, still smiling. “Alan probably would have just had us grate a whole truffle over the potatoes, but I convinced him that less is just as good as more in this case.” 

“Smart man,” Mike replies, chest puffing out with pride. 

Graeme’s smile wobbles — he’s still not used to engendering that kind of emotion in anyone, let alone his boyfriend’s father. “Okay, so, the traffic on 405 sucked, sorry we were late. What can I do?”

Mike rubs his now-clean hands together with intent, eyes gleaming. 

“Oh my god, I think if I cried right now, gravy would come out instead.” With a long sigh of relief, Graeme lets the button loose on his pants, then shimmies them off. 

Alan grins up at him lazily, his eyes already half-lidded with sleep. They’re in the guest room at his parents’ place in Kent — Sam and Rick and the kids had gone back to their house, but the drive to Seattle had been deemed by Alan too treacherous with freezing rain and the potential for drunk drivers. Luckily Mike’s pajamas fit Alan, though Graeme can practically swim in them. 

Still, the extra room feels nice, and the fluffy down comforter is perfect as he slides in beside Alan. He’s quiet, perhaps too quiet as Alan’s arms slip around him and pull him close, because Alan whispers a soft, “What’s on your mind, baby?”

Graeme chews on his lip, nervous. “I can see why Tommy liked to hang out at your place when you were growing up. Mike and Linda are— are really cool.” 

Alan huffs out a little laugh, seemingly more at himself than at Graeme. “Yeah. It’s one of those things I didn’t really appreciate as a kid. I should have seen it like Tommy did. To me they were just — are just — my parents, you know? And yet here I am, sleeping with my boyfriend in the same bed, not having to pretend you’re something you aren’t, not having to sneak around, nothing. I love you, and they know it, and they love you too.” 

“It’s, um. It’s really mind-fucking. Like. I didn’t used to ever think I  _ deserved _ a parent’s love, you know?” 

Alan squeezes him more tightly to his chest, kissing his forehead. “You do, baby. You deserve all the love you never got, and more.” 

Graeme’s fingers clutch at Alan’s chest, and he meets his boyfriend’s eyes. “I know, now. I mean, I’m learning, anyway. I’m getting there. But Alan, you— you might have taken it for granted before, but you aren’t, now. Your fundraising gala is in two weeks, and I can’t— I can’t fucking  _ wait _ to be there by your side. I’m so fucking proud of you, okay? I’m so excited that you’re going to be offering opportunities out into the world for people like me. I can’t— I don’t have words for how proud I am to be with you.” 

“Graeme, baby—” Alan stops, wiping a tear from his eye. 

Graeme brushes a quieting kiss over Alan’s lips, then rests his head on his chest. “Let’s get some sleep. Traffic’s going to suck tomorrow, too.” 

Graeme comes back from a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend to face Dead Week on campus. He’s fairly confident in his current class standings, but talk of final projects and peer review and grades always makes him nervous. 

He thinks that might be why Alan starts the texting. He knows Graeme can use the distraction. But too: he’s been especially loving, especially touchy-feely, especially, well,  _ Alan-y _ the last few days. Since Graeme’s little monologue in bed. Like things have shifted again between them, shifted and then settled more deeply into becoming a part of Graeme’s being. 

And that’s big stuff, to be sure, for something so lighthearted as a little sexting, but when Alan starts up, Graeme knows it’s not with the intent of making him feel like a cheap Grindr date, and that makes all the difference. 

It starts with a selfie, Alan standing in his office, his wall of nerd knicknacks behind him. Graeme finds a quiet place on campus, out of the rain, to send him one back, his cheeks flushed from the chill and his hot chocolate from the coffee place on the corner firmly in his grip. He’s wearing one of his hand-knitted beanies, and he looks good, he thinks. Alan’s reply is nearly immediate.

**Alan:** Fuck, you’re gorgeous

**Graeme:** :blushing emoji:

**Alan:** I’m serious, baby

**Alan:** How was your first class? How’s the break?

**Graeme:** Fine, and better now ^.^

Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, he has two classes that aren’t back-to-back, but the break is just short enough between them that he can’t make it home and back in time. It makes for a long, boring hour on campus. 

**Alan:** Can I distract you? 

**Graeme:** Sure, I’m just dicking around on my phone

**Alan:** Can I…KINKTOBER distract you?

Graeme glances around. 

**Graeme:** Yes, but I’m not going to come on my college campus, because I do *not* want to be the weirdo that got caught masturbating in the bathroom or something

**Alan:** So that just means you’re going to be all on edge when you get home

**Alan:** Perfect

**Graeme:** Evil Daddy

He grins, tucking into an out-of-the-way study carrel in the nearest building. It’s not necessarily a very public place, but enough that he can hear chatter coming down the hallway. The fact that they're doing this here and now triggers his exhibitionism, making his heart race in excitement.   


**Alan:** I feel like I can never stop thinking about you

**Alan:** I was just sitting here, and then I remembered you fucking me, and how good you felt inside me. I’ve literally never been distracted by sex before you

**Graeme:** Do you ever fantasize about me?

It’s a cheap, fishing question, Graeme knows, but he’s also genuinely curious, given how Alan’s mind works. 

**Alan:** All the time

**Graeme:** Really????? :blushing emoji:

**Alan:** :eggplant emoji:

**Alan:** But yes, all the time

**Alan:** Your ass, mostly

**Alan:** How cute it is in jeans

**Alan:** How gorgeous in lace

**Alan:** How pretty it looks when it’s all pink from my hand

**Graeme:** What would you do if we were home right now?

He can imagine Alan’s little chuckle, his smile down at his phone. 

**Alan:** I’d put on the white noise, or one of those cooking shows we’ve already watched, and lay you over my lap. I’d work you up so slowly you wouldn’t even recognize what I was doing, half in your headspace already. 

Graeme swallows, shifting in his seat, imagining it. He wishes he had a plug to rock against, or anything to make him feel less achingly empty. 

**Alan:** You’d just sigh with happiness when I ask if I can slip your pants off and make you more comfortable, and then I’d use that excuse to give you a massage, work lotion into your ass cheeks. You’re breathing’s gone ragged for me, baby boy

It has, is the thing, and Graeme’s fingers tremble as he types a response. 

**Graeme:** I want your fingers in me

**Alan:** Oh they will be, baby, but slowly. Have to take you under, that way you get when you’re absolutely relaxed and boneless. When your eyes slip closed, and your breathing evens out, that’s when I’m going to start working you open. You’ll be in some half-dream, half-subspace place, floating so nicely

His eyes close now, running his tongue over his lips, practically feeling Alan’s hand over his ass, circling his rim and pressing in slowly. He’s snapped out by the phone buzzing in his hand again.

**Alan:** I think maybe I’d just take it slow from there. Let you get used to my finger before adding another. Keep you quiet, and calm, not letting you move against my hand

**Alan:** You like cock warming, so I bet you’d like that. Me just playing with you casually. Wonder how long it would be before you couldn't take it? I bet you’d be such a good boy for me. 

**Graeme:** I would, Daddy

**Alan:** Color? How are you doing?

Graeme blows out a breath on a laugh. His dick is straining against his jeans, and it’s going to take him the next twenty minutes to make sure it’s down, probably, before his next class starts. 

**Graeme:** Yellow. Need to calm myself down. Literally panting for you, no lie

He imagines Alan laughing himself, hunched over his phone in his rolling office chair. 

**Alan:** You’re such a good boy, knowing your limits. I’ll come pick you up after class, we can grab a late lunch and then maybe make fantasy reality?

**Graeme:** Sounds perfect

With a small laugh, he plays with the metal around his neck, blush high on his cheeks. He slips in his earbuds and puts on one of his really dry news podcasts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I'm just letting you know that I will have run out of pre-written material after the 22nd. My hope is to publish as much as I can in October, but the rest may become Kinkvember. Nevertheless, I WILL be publishing the last nine stories, plus possibly an epilogue. I did really well at pre-writing a lot of stuff for Kinktober but I've hit my own hell week and I have no time for writing. Things should clear up in the next week or so, though. I definitely want to publish at least once in the week after the 22nd. 
> 
> All that being said, I really, really enjoyed writing the installments for the 21st and 22nd, so I hope you do, too!


	7. Suspension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan and Graeme get some help with something totally new.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Early December / October 21

| 

~~Bukakke~~ | ~~Food play~~ | **Suspension** | ~~Branding~~

| 

_By process of elimination — G_

  


_I don’t have any experience with suspension, but… sometimes the yoga studio has seminars? Let me pull up the calendar… — A_

  


_Yes, they’ve got a suspension class in the next week — A_

  


_...What if I, like, get a hardon in the middle of a class???? — G_

  


_Then you’ll be a good boy and wait until I help you with that, won’t you? — A_

  


_I’m not going to dignify that...outside of a scene. :D but um...there’s no breath play, right? That’s not this? — G_

  


_Absolutely not. But if you start to feel like it might be triggering, obviously, we stop. — A_  
  
Graeme shivers beside him, but considering the heat pumping out of the Tesla’s vents, Alan doesn’t think he’s cold. “Nervous?” he asks, offering his hand for Graeme to take. 

“I’d feel better if we knew  _ anyone _ who was going to be there, like Barbie, or Clark and István or something.” 

“You’ll recognize people, I’m sure. Are you—” Worry licks into Alan’s guts. “You’re not ashamed that we don’t know how to do it, are you?”

“No, honey, it’s not that,” Graeme reassures, with a squeeze to his hand. “It’s just like...look at all of these people.” He waves his hand at the bustle of holiday shoppers as they pass through downtown Seattle. It’s a miserable day, but with mere weeks until Christmas, everyone is in a tizzy as always. “They’re all...being normal, and we’re headed to a kink space to learn how to suspend me so I can get all floaty.” 

“Who's to say what all those people are doing out there is normal? Who’s to say what we’re doing isn’t normal?” Alan asks, then laughs when Graeme flicks him a look. “Okay, so maybe it’s not normal. But it’s fun, right? And isn’t that what vacations are for?” 

Having passed his finals, Graeme’s off until after the new year. Mostly, this has translated to him helping Alan and Mal get ready for the gala, running down caterers and finalizing musicians. Which is why Alan insisted on signing them up for the class, as a way to help Graeme calm down. 

As his Gala To-Do List tries to flicker to the forefront of his brain, Alan realizes he needs a way to calm down, too. Even with the event planner, Yasmina, at the head of everything now, Alan can’t help but worry over how much still needs to be done, and how big of a leap into unknown territory he’s taking. The gala will be the kick-off event, sure, but the facility still needs a lot of work to be just right, and— 

And he forces it back away again.

Graeme gives him a considering look, then squeezes his hand again. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “Let’s go learn something new.” 

It’s not the first time that Graeme has seemed to be able to just  _ see _ through him. He lets the Tesla auto-parallel park as he pulls Graeme’s gloved hand up for a kiss. 

Inside, the studio is pleasantly warm, and Alan helps Graeme out of his wool jacket, stealing a moment to press a kiss to the delicate skin under his ear. Graeme flushes prettily, his Adam’s Apple bobbing against his collar. 

There are two other couples in the space with them, though the studio has spots for up to five suspension hard points. Their instructor does turn out to be someone Graeme’s met before, Darwin, a stocky man with obvious upper body strength and a big, toothy smile. Alan had met Darwin years ago, when he’d first started his gender transition and been new to the scene. The obvious connection between the two of them seems to put Graeme a little more at ease. 

“Okay, first, tops, before we get started, you should always check your hard point. Make sure it’s strong enough for the weight you want it to bear. Swing a little.” Darwin pulls himself up on his demonstration chain, swinging around on it a little to show that the hard point connections the yoga studio has set up are sturdy. 

Alan winks at Graeme. “Did you ever have to rope climb in gym class? It was like my least favorite day.” He climbs up on his chain as Graeme laughs, pushing him a little to make him swing. The hard point remains solid, even as it takes Alan’s full body weight. 

“I bet you’d kill it now, though, Ally.” 

With a laugh, Alan lets his body weight back down to the floor, slipping his arm around Graeme’s waist as they wait. 

“So I’m not going to be having my own bottom for today’s demonstration, because I want to focus on you guys and I wouldn’t want them to feel neglected. Suspension is really fun, so try to shake off any nerves, but just like everything, we want to get warmed up first. I’m not sure exactly what that looks like for you, it could be massage, or cuddling, or kissing. Consider this the foreplay. While you’re doing that, I’m going to come around and work with each group individually, okay?” Darwin’s hands clasp together and he smiles. 

Alan takes that as his signal to slowly turn Graeme away from the other couples, bringing him in for a lingering kiss. Graeme is still a little stiff beneath him, so he runs his hands over Graeme’s shoulders, working out any knots, warming his skin. He eases Graeme’s t-shirt over his head — he has to go down to boxers for the ropework, anyway — and holds him close, sharing body heat despite the fact that the yoga studio is plenty warm.

“Beautiful, beautiful.” Darwin’s voice is light and encouraging, gentle even. It still makes Graeme shy, though, burying his face in Alan’s neck. “What a sweet boy. What safeword system are you two using?” 

Alan opens his mouth, but Graeme answers first. “Green-yellow-red,” he says confidently, making Alan proud. 

“Perfect. Graeme, do I have your permission to touch your body to help Alan with any positioning or knots?” 

Graeme looks up, knowing how important it is to establish consent with eye contact. “Yes.” 

“Excellent. And if you want to revoke that consent, use the traffic light system with me, too, okay? Since that’s what you’re used to.” 

“Okay, Darwin,” Graeme answers obediently, giving Darwin a small smile. 

Darwin gives Alan a sardonic ‘if he wasn’t  _ your _ sub…’ look, which Alan returns with an “Oh, I know.” 

He keeps his hands on Graeme at all times as they wait through the demonstration, keeping Graeme relaxed and open and warm. Darwin chooses another couple to show the chest harness, stepping in when Alan stumbles over the correct placing. 

Alan’s seen plenty of suspension demonstrations before, and he’s always found them particularly interesting, in the connection between the top and the bottom. He finds it no less so now that he’s the top in play. One of his favorite aspects of kink is the emphasis on consent, on making sure Graeme is okay, is feeling good, isn’t hurting in a damaging way. Lack of that checking in was one of the things he resented most about his vanilla relationship with his ex. 

It’s quiet in the room, despite the fact that they’re learning. Everyone’s being respectful of the space, and besides, all of the tops are pretty invested in making sure they don’t hurt their bottoms to pay attention to anyone else. And Darwin moves smoothly between, adjusting a tie here or a rope there, instructive yet keeping the mood playful. 

Graeme’s had his arms in a chest harness before without being triggered by thoughts of his father, and he seems to do well now, too. He looks beautiful with the blue rope circling his arms and binding his wrists together at his chest. Alan’s a bit proud of himself, too, because he’s never tried a suspension-worthy chest harness before, and it’s turning out rather well. 

“Color, baby?” 

Graeme wiggles adorably in the rope, obviously checking pressure points and give. “Green.” 

“We’re going to attach you to the anchor point next, okay Graeme? So just be aware that it will be holding some of your body weight. If you start to feel like you did before, with the breathplay, just color out.” Darwin does a second check of Alan’s harness as he speaks, and nods his satisfaction with Alan’s work. 

Alan works the cording through the suspension ring, all the while watching Graeme’s face as some of his weight is lifted. It’s not taut enough to lift him completely, but he can lean without falling over, which will allow Alan to work on his hip harness. “Color?” 

Graeme lets his body lean away, then looks at Alan with a little smile. “Green. I feel safe.” 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Alan murmurs, using the chest harness to pull Graeme to him for a kiss. Graeme whimpers into it, already giving himself over. 

Heading into new territory makes Alan nervous, but the absolute trust in Graeme’s eyes strengthens his own resolve, and he pays close attention as Darwin goes through the process of making the hip harness. He finds himself wiping away sweat on his brow more than once, congratulating himself for continuing to strength train with yoga. 

“If you don’t want to go full on suspension your first time, a partial suspension is a good start. Having a single leg suspended can make your bottom feel just as helpless. And it’s still a fun position to play in.” 

Darwin demonstrates on Graeme this time, hitching his hip harness to the anchor point and having Alan start to pull him up so just one leg is touching the wood paneling below. Graeme hops, laughing a little as his center of balance goes wonky. Alan steadies him, and pulls him in for another kiss, pleased that he’s happy enough to laugh and isn’t experiencing trauma. 

“You look good like this, baby boy.” He traces down Graeme’s bare side, feeling his stomach contract and flex at the light touch. He plays over the exposed skin of Graeme’s inner thigh as well, loving how Graeme’s skin pebbles over in goosebumps. 

“Thank you, sir,” Graeme huffs out, sounding breathless, eyes that hazy shade of subspace. 

He spends a few more minutes messing with Graeme like that, teasing over his body, tugging on a nipple ring here or brushing over his cock below. Graeme is rock hard, his cock leaking precum over his shorts, and apparently, all worry about popping a boner in the middle of the class out the window. Alan thinks it helps that no one is paying attention to them, other than Darwin. Each couple is lost in their own little world. 

“Let’s try a full suspension,” Darwin murmurs beside him. 

Alan nods, running his fingers over Graeme’s face. “Baby, I’m going to lift you off the ground completely, okay? Color?” 

“Gr—reen,” Graeme slurs. 

“Use your words if something hurts the wrong way, but remember, it’s supposed to hurt.” 

Graeme smiles up at him. “Bring it on.” 

With a little growl, Alan pulls Graeme to him and kisses him breathless. “Fuck, I love you.” 

He rides that high as Darwin shows him the full suspension, raising Graeme by the hip harness until he’s parallel with the ground. Some straps need readjusting, but otherwise, Graeme looks like he’s floating through subspace quite blissfully. 

“Well, you might just have yourself a rope bottom,” Darwin says playfully, testing a strap and then standing back to let Graeme swing. 

“I might just like tying people up,” Alan admits, feeling power course through his veins. “So I  _ guess _ we’re compatible.” 

The sarcasm makes Graeme snort, and mutter, “Smartass,” under his breath. 

Alan crouches in front of Graeme’s face, pulling at his hair to bring him close. “You must be rubbing off on me, baby.” With that, he captures Graeme’s lips, making him tilt his head to get the proper angle. 

He pulls back, though Graeme tugs at his lip gently with his teeth to keep him there. He laughs, taking Graeme’s mouth again, giving in to what his beautiful sub wants for a little longer. He can’t resist breaking the kiss, though, and running his hands over Graeme’s body to watch his face. It’s a look of pure bliss, a twitch every so often signifying when Alan pulls at his nipple ring or skitters his fingers over Graeme’s exposed belly. He’s had Graeme completely at his mercy many a time before, but there’s a new dimension to the suspension that he particularly enjoys. 

When it’s time for Graeme to come down, Darwin takes them through the steps slowly, again, giving time for Graeme to adjust. He chases each touch of the rope with a massaging touch, a soothing balm that will help Graeme recover. Graeme is putty in his arms, leaning on the anchor, and then Alan, to keep himself from toppling over on unsteady legs. 

“I feel like a newborn colt learning how to walk,” he mutters into Alan’s shoulder as Alan works on one of the chest harness knots, and Alan kisses his forehead. 

“Is that a good feeling or a bad feeling?” 

“Mostly good, I think.” Graeme reaches around Alan’s body, beginning to massage over the tense muscles of his back and press kisses to his shoulder. “How are you?” 

“All green, baby.” With a final tug, the rope falls to the floor, and then Darwin is there with a blanket, and Alan’s pulling Graeme down onto one of the aftercare cushions that’s been dragged into the studio especially for the class. “That was exhausting, though.” 

“I can drive home, I’m just going to need a minute. Everything still feels like jello, especially my brain.” 

Alan grins, hugging Graeme close. "We're going to take all the time we need." He nuzzles into Graeme's hair, stroking over his back again and again. Graeme's completely pliant, completely relaxed. Exactly where Alan wanted him to be for winter vacation. 

Humming happily, Graeme burrows in and kisses Alan, his Dom, his boyfriend, the love of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for tomorrow, guys.


	8. Foursome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan's charity gala goes off with nary a hitch, but Graeme has a surprise planned for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D :D :D I'm so excited for you all to read today!
> 
> CW: More explicit details of Tommy's death - he was shot. If you want to skip that part, go from "Graeme’s heart is beating hard, because he knows, of course, how this story ends." to "The rest of the speech is an outline of Alan’s plans with his facility, his dreams, his ambitions."

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Mid-December _(Alan’s gala!!!! — G)_ / October 22

| 

Impact Play | ~~Cuckolding~~ | Hand-jobs | Threesome (or more)

| 

_Can we wait until after the Gala for this one? I’m just so swamped... — A_

  


_Of course, honey — G_  
  
Graeme checks his suit out in the mirror, smoothing out the tiniest wrinkles. It’s even fancier than the one he wore in Port Orchard, a deep blue with grey highlights. He feels like a goddamned adult in it. 

He’s in one of the restrooms at the Seattle Asian Art Museum, having snagged a minute from overseeing the food to finally get changed. He stuffs his empty garment bag, hanger, and old clothes into his overnight bag — Graeme’s surprising Alan with a suite at the Renaissance Seattle after the gala tonight, a chance for Alan to really relax after months of planning and stress. He’s not sure he could be prouder of his boyfriend. 

With one last check to make sure nary a hair is out of place, Graeme sweeps out of the restroom, checking his bag with the coat counter and rushing off in search of Alan. He finds him pacing the front lobby — the doors will open in 5 minutes — looking at a crumpled piece of paper and mumbling to himself. 

It’s almost pleasant, being the one who has to calm his partner for a change, rather than being the calmee. He brushes his fingers lightly over Alan’s arm to get his attention without startling him, and also because he doesn’t want to ruin Alan’s look because Damn, Though. Alan looks amazing in his black suit and tie, shoes squeaky with shine. 

Graeme threads their fingers together as Alan looks up at him, eyes a little watery. “I’m not sure if I can get through this,” he mutters, rubbing the wetness out of his eye. 

“You can. You can do this, Alan.” He rubs his thumb across Alan’s knuckles in a soothing way, then leans up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be right there with you, at the front table. And if you get nervous, you can just look down at me, find me, look me in the eyes, and picture me naked.” 

Alan laughs at his silly grin, pulling him in for a deeper kiss. “I’m not sure if being flustered by the image of taking this very, very good suit off of you is helpful.” But his eyes are twinkling with mirth, now, not sadness or nerves, so Graeme counts it for a win. 

Mal walks in, tapping away on their ever-present tablet. “Alan, the caterer is good to go, and the first cars are starting to arrive. Yasmina says everything’s ready to go if you are.” 

Alan’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, stuck in nerves, so Graeme nods at Mal. “Tell Yasmina he’s ready. I’ve got him.” 

From there, Alan clings to his hand like a lifeline as his fancy guests start to pour in. Graeme’s stomach is full of butterflies, too, but for some reason, he finds himself able to push past the nerves to be able to help prop Alan up. 

Plus, Alan is genuinely good at this stuff — coming off charming without seeming like he’s just schmoozing for money. He makes the whirlwind of people seem welcomed, and Graeme finds that being along for the ride is no hardship. 

At a break between guests, Graeme leans up, pressing a quick kiss to Alan’s lips and whispering, “I’m going to go check on the catering one last time. Are you okay if I leave you? Should I send Krista over?” 

Alan squeezes his fingers. “I’m okay. I’m going to go get myself a glass of water in one of those fancy champagne glasses, and I’ll be okay.” 

“Okay. I’ll find you. Five minutes, tops.” With one last squeeze, he slips away just as Alan starts to engage with another rich couple. 

If he learned one thing over the summer, it’s how to navigate a space where food is being prepared without getting in the way, so when he eases his way into the kitchen of the museum’s small cafe, which has been commandeered for the evening for catering, he’s able to get through easily. 

Reene Singh, the caterer, spares him a quick glance as she places garnishes on plates. “Hey, Graeme. We’ve still got everything under control.” 

“Perfect. Just double-checking.” 

“Triple-checking,” she says with a grin, pushing hair out of her face without using her hands. 

“Guilty. Ohhh, is that the mango-coconut chutney?” His fingers itch to reach out and taste it, even though he’s going to be served it later. 

“Yes, paired with the pork loin with—”

“With the curry rub, yes, I remember.” 

Reene turns, shouting out an order to the rest of the crew, before turning back to Graeme apologetically. 

“No, no, I should go. I just wanted to, um— check. Again.” 

She gives him a small smile. “It pulls at you, doesn’t it? The food.” 

“Yes! Yes, that’s exactly it,” Graeme replies with a laugh. “It pulls me. Sorry.” 

“No need for apologies. Do you cook?” 

“I’m, um, actually in culinary school right now.” 

Reene’s eyes light up in delight. “Well, welcome to the club, then!” She gives Graeme a little salute before getting back to her work. 

“Thanks! Um. Seriously, thanks.” With one last shared smile, Graeme leaves the kitchen, not wanting to be in the way any longer. 

 

He reattaches himself to Alan’s side immediately, slipping their hands together while Alan’s deep in conversation with some high-end donors. Alan’s palm is sweaty, perhaps the only outward sign that he’s nervous. Graeme wishes they were back at the apartment, curled up in the papasan. Except he knows how badly Alan needs to do this, so all through the small talk before dinner, he just doesn’t leave Alan’s side. They greet Alan’s family and friends, drum up donors, admire the art, and finally sit down to eat, their hands still clasped together. 

The main course has been served when Alan squeezes his thigh, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he stands to make his way to the podium. There’s still a fair amount of chatter around the room, but Graeme only has eyes for Alan. He watches his boyfriend give a handshake here, a half-hug there as he walks. Unconsciously, Graeme touches the collar of his dress shirt, under which lay the white gold band that has come to signify everything for them. 

Tears are already sprouting in his eyes, but that’s a given — he was a goner the moment Alan cradled him on a cold Seattle street. 

Alan clears his throat, and the mic is hot, so there’s a crackling around the room. His face goes bright red, but he gives his patented Alan Garry Charming Smile, and the crowd gives an appreciative laugh. 

“You can do this, honey,” Graeme whispers, when Alan’s eyes land on his. He tilts his head, the smallest of nods, his fingers still on his collar. Alan’s eyes warm at the sight, and he gives a small nod of his own, bringing out the much-folded and crinkled paper from earlier. 

“I sat down to write this out on my tablet, but for some reason, I had to switch to pencil and paper. Which, if you know me, says a lot about how I feel.” Alan’s voice is strong, and there’s another little tittering from the crowd. “I’d like to thank you for coming. I know the holidays are a hard time for everyone to get together, and I appreciate it. Originally, I thought of starting in the new year, but—” Alan pauses, looking out the windows to the cold rain. “But there are families out there in need of help now, and I couldn’t put off helping them. So thank you. I’d also like to thank several people for all of their help so far. Mal, my faithful assistant. Krista Ozawa, our brilliant real estate agent, for helping me find the perfect facility. The countless heads of organizations I talked to as we were crafting this vision. Those donors who have already pledged, in total, millions. And to Graeme Webster, for being my daily inspiration.” 

Graeme’s cheeks heat up, but he nods at Alan, acknowledging the shout out, starting to count down personally to when he can kiss the hell out of his boyfriend. 

Alan smoothes the paper out, letting the applause die down. When he starts again, his voice seems more distant.  “When I was in middle school, I met my best friend, Tommy. He was funny, and street smart, and obsessed with his bangs, and he had the one thing I wanted: an extra Snorlax he could trade me.” There’s a small chuckle, from those that actually get the Pokemon reference. “See, he’d scrimped and saved and collected cans and mowed yards and had finally, finally gotten enough to get a Gameboy, the summer before I met him. He had Red, I had Blue, it was a match made in heaven.” 

Graeme’s heart is beating hard, because he knows, of course, how this story ends.

“We went into high school attached at the hip. We took computer science classes together, and walked to and from class together. We ate lunch together, and he actually had worked something out with the guy next to me so we could have lockers together. Alan and Tommy, inseparable. We were going to move in together after he turned 18. I should have— I should have realized that we needed to do it sooner, I should have told someone, but we thought we could handle it— so stupid. My therapist tells me I can’t blame myself for being innocent and naive.” Alan swallows, looking down at his notes, then back up to meet Graeme’s eyes. 

“I love you,” Graeme whispers, pressing his fingers to his lips. Alan takes it, acknowledges it, before moving on.

“One day, Tommy didn’t show up to school. I didn’t really think anything of it, people get sick, you know. This was before cell phones so I couldn’t just text him, but I didn’t worry. Until the counselor pulled me out of class. I remember, my mom was there, and she just, just gave me this big hug? And they sat me down, and they told me.” 

Across the table, Graeme sees Linda wipe at her eyes, as Mike pulls her in for a side hug.

Alan takes a sip of water. “Tommy’s father shot him, his mother, and himself in the middle of the night. Tommy, my best friend, is just another domestic violence statistic. We need to do better, and that’s why you’re here tonight…”

The rest of the speech is an outline of Alan’s plans with his facility, his dreams, his ambitions. He introduces Gustavo Valadez, the main manager of the facility, who reaffirms Alan’s promise to serve LGBTQ+ youth. Looking around the room, Graeme sees there are several people wiping their eyes. There will be donations tonight, Graeme is sure of it, and that will be because of his boyfriend. 

Alan’s mobbed the moment he comes off the stage, and Graeme can tell it’s going to take him awhile to get back to the table, so Graeme goes to meet him. He slides in beside Alan as he’s discussing a large donation with a businessperson, threading their fingers together, offering his support. Alan smiles down at him briefly, but gratefully, and squeezes back. 

Later, as the post-dinner rush is finally calming, Graeme goes up on his tiptoes to whisper in Alan’s ear, “I’m so proud of you.” 

Alan’s cheeks go dark, and he pulls Graeme into a huge hug. “Give me thirty more minutes with my team and then I think we can escape, okay?” 

“Whatever time you need, sweetie.” 

It’s less than that, actually, and the nice part about being the last ones is that the traffic from the parking lot has entirely cleared out, except for Hendrick and the town car. Hendrick’s reading a book in the front seat, but when he sees Graeme and Alan start to approach, he pops out and around. 

Not to open the car door for them — that’s a little too much ceremony for Alan’s tastes, always has been — but to pull Alan into a big hug, lifting him partially off the ground in a way that has Alan laughing in surprise. Graeme looks on, beaming, but when Hendrick sets Alan down, he only opens up one arm and beckons Graeme over. “Get in here, Marshmallow.” 

With a laugh, Graeme joins the hug, leaning his head into Alan’s chest as Alan and Hendrick rest their foreheads together. “I heard your speech, my boy. It was an inside job, you see,” Hendrick says with a wink at Graeme. “Graeme texted me, and I came in and watched from the back. You are going to do such amazing things, and I’m so proud of you.” Smiling, Hendrick clasps Alan’s cheeks and presses a kiss to each one. “I’d imagine you’re exhausted, now, so come on, let’s go.” 

Alan heaves a sigh as they slip into the backseat together, and he pulls Graeme up on his lap. With a wink, Hendrick raises the window between the front seat and back, which has Alan arching a brow, because he  _ never _ does that. “What—” 

“I have a surprise for you, Alan.” Trying to keep his face serious is too hard a task; it feels like the smile is just trying to escape his lips and be set free. Reaching into his suit jacket pocket, he pulls out two key cards in little envelopes. He holds them both out to Alan, one in each hand. There’s a little marking on each envelope — the numbers 214 on one, and Ste. 3 on the other. “You have a choice in this surprise, though. I have two rooms at the Renaissance Seattle.” 

Alan raises his eyebrows. “Wow, that’s— that’s sounds amazing, baby. Um, why two?”

Graeme pulls out his phone, now, flipping it around to show Alan the spreadsheet he already has pulled up. “October twenty-second, threesome, or more.” At the ‘or more,’ Graeme can’t help but giggle a little. “So this is your choice, Alan. We will do whatever you want to do, but I want to guarantee you that everyone else has already consented explicitly to this.” 

“Everyone...else?” 

Graeme holds out the 214 key. “If you choose this door, it’ll be just the two of us, spending the night in a fabulously fancy hotel, having awesome hotel sex, probably. We’ll order breakfast in bed, and maybe have some more awesome hotel sex. No harm, no foul. A wonderful evening.” 

Alan’s eyes flick over to the key marked Ste. 3. “And if I choose door number two?”

Graeme smiles seductively. “Behind door number two, you’ll find a chilled bottle of champagne, some ridiculously tasty little canapes — I have it on good authority, anyway — and Clark and István, who really, really want to play with us. And have shown me their latest testing results — all negative. They want to help me celebrate your success.” 

Alan meets his eyes, and they’re already a darker shade of blue. “You want this?” 

“Oh yes, I do.” 

Alan’s hand cups the back of his neck, and he brings Graeme in, kissing him fervently, nibbling at his lips, making Graeme moan. When he lets Graeme pull back, Alan has the Ste. 3 key in his hand. “Do you have a backup plan for the extra room?” 

Graeme grins and hits the button for the dividing screen. “Hendrick, he’s going for the suite.” 

“Hot damn! Okay, hey, can you text Ceci to meet us there? Thanks so much, you guys. Weird mix-up for the hotel to do, but as long as some fancy room doesn’t get wasted, I’m happy to help.” 

Alan snorts a little, biting at Graeme’s ear before whispering, “Nice one. I take it he doesn’t know about the, uh, extra guests?” 

“Of course not. I’m discreet.” 

“Who do you think is going to want to fuck you first, István or Clark?”

Graeme shivers. “I could do both.” 

Alan’s fingers squeeze into his ass, making him nearly moan again. He’s more careful now, though, with the window down. Grinning, Alan continues to torture Graeme all the way to the hotel. 

 

They’re blessedly alone in the elevator. With Graeme’s overnight bag — in which he’d thrown clothes for Alan, too — flung over his shoulder, Alan turns to Graeme with a serious face. “Parameters? What would you like to do?” 

Graeme reaches for Alan’s hand. “I’m open to oral and anal, both giving and receiving, with both of them, assuming they’re also up for it. Also, I’d, um, I’d like you to, um, still Dom me. I mean, tell me what to do and who to do it with. Or, um, give your permission.” 

Alan pulls him forward, kissing his forehead. “How about this — I’m in charge, but if I tell you to do something you don’t want to do, you get the final say, okay? Remember your colors.”

“I like the sound of that,” Graeme says with a grin, stepping off the elevator. “I just want you to remember, this is a celebration of you, of your success, of your accomplishment tonight. So, uh, I guess I just mean — take what you want, okay?” 

Alan’s smile turns just a little savage. “I intend to.” 

His words make Graeme shiver, and he tucks into Alan’s side as they approach the suite door. Alan lets his fingers play over Graeme’s day collar — they had loosened his tie back in the town car so Alan could play with the chain. 

They find Clark and István on the couch in the living area, watching Saturday Night Live and sipping at the champagne. They've already changed out of the formal wear they'd had on at the gala into way more comfortable looking pajamas. They’re cuddled up in each other, but they both look up when Alan and Graeme walk in, and their eyes seem to both settle on the way Alan’s possessively stroking Graeme’s collar. 

Graeme’s excited, of course he is — but he underestimated just how overpowering three dominant personalities would be. Three sets of eyes on him, and he’s ready to kneel for them then and there. He whimpers a little at the possessive touch Alan’s giving him, and Alan takes his mouth, a display of dominance for the other two. To Graeme, the message is clear: 

_ I'm going to share you, but you're still mine. _

Alan settles into the love seat, drawing Graeme down with him and dropping the bag on the floor. “A few ground rules?” 

Clark nods, his own arm curling possessively around István. “We use stop lights, too. No scat play or watersports, and István doesn’t mind feminization. We’re both okay with edge and blood play. And as you know, István likes breath play, but we won’t do that tonight.” 

“That sounds great. Graeme takes orders, first from me, then from either of you. He’s allowed to reject ideas. He likes pain, but no blood. And if or when I want to get my dick involved, it will probably just be with Graeme, I hope that’s okay.” 

“Of course it is, Alan,” Clarks confirms. 

“And Graeme likes to be called your baby boy, don’t you, baby?” István purrs at Graeme, making Graeme blush hard and nod, submissive already. “May I touch your boy, Alan?” 

And then István is patting his leg for Graeme to transfer seats, and Alan is murmuring his encouragement to go, and Graeme is already so fucking in the headspace it’s not even funny. Demurely, he sits on István’s lap and accepts the champagne glass filled with bubbling liquid. “Sparkling cider, sweetness,” István murmurs, his hand coming around Graeme’s waist.

“Thanks.” He takes a sip, letting the sweet tang roll around his tongue as the bubbles burst. Alan accepts another glass from Clark, and moves closer, taking the opposite end of the couch by Clark. Clark turns the TV off and the sudden silence in the room is deafening, until Clark turns it over to some low, jazzy music full of horns and soft voices. 

Graeme whimpers, just a little, already losing his words. This night is going to wreck him in the best way possible, he knows it. 

“What is it, sweet baby boy?” Clark’s hand rubs over his back. 

“It’s Daddy’s night,” he whispers into István’s ear. “Daddy’s the one who should be getting everything.” It doesn’t feel right, having Alan so far away. 

Just like that, they’re readjusting, so István and Graeme are in the middle, flanked by Alan and Clark. Graeme sits with his back to Clark, who’s still doing a fantastic job back there, so he can see his Daddy’s face. 

“Such a sweet boy, thinking of me.” Alan leans over, pressing a kiss to Graeme’s cheek. “I want to watch you have some fun, okay, baby boy? Nothing makes me happier.” 

Graeme nods, happy now. There’s nothing but love and happiness and this certain lightness filling his heart as he watches Alan press a kiss to István’s cheek, too.  

“We should get you more comfortable.” István’s fingers are nimble over his buttons, and then Graeme’s chest is exposed to him, his nipple rings glinting in the dim hotel lighting. He passes the shirt off to Clark to lay out, then leans down and nips at one of the rings. “I had no idea you had this hidden here, baby. Fucking sexy.” 

Alan’s hand is resting on his knee, and Clark has a hand pressed against his lower back, urging him up to meet István’s mouth as István continues to torture his nipples. Suddenly, Clark’s mouth is pressing kisses over his neck, sucking around his collar. Graeme moans, letting his head fall back against Clark’s shoulder. With half-lidded eyes, he seeks out Alan’s face, and finds it flushed, his eyes dark with lust, taking in everything. With easy movements, he pops forward to sweep the champagne glass out of Graeme’s hand, then cups his face, kissing him senseless. 

The feeling of three mouths sweeping over him is only surmounted by watching Clark and Alan kiss over his shoulder. His heart feels like it’s thudding in his chest, and then Clark and Alan both turn to him, and bring him into the kiss. Clark’s five o’clock shadow is rougher than Alan’s beard, abrasive against his cheek in the most pleasant way. With a strangled gasp, Graeme runs his fingers through István’s hair and pulls him up to join. It’s too many, four at once, but they make it work, never pausing between kisses. Graeme can taste the sweetness of the champagne on István’s tongue as they make out with Alan. Clark must have had coffee, because the scent hangs around them. Graeme’s senses are completely overwhelmed in the best way possible. 

“Do you have—” he hears Alan whisper to Clark while he’s being distracted by István’s beautiful, beautiful lips. 

Clark doesn’t answer, but he feels him move away, and then there’s the familiar click of a bottle of lube. 

“My pants—” Graeme gasps, pulling back from subspace a bit at his concern over the fine material.

“I’ve got them, baby boy, don’t you worry. We won’t ruin them.” Alan presses a kiss to his ear. 

He feels Alan and Clark tackle his bottom half, letting himself be manipulated as he continues to kiss István. István is soft, and welcoming, and honestly, he feels like he could do this forever without coming, just riding the edge in István’s open arms. 

And then someone’s lubed finger is pressing at his rim, and Graeme doesn’t want to look to see if it’s Alan or Clark. It’s Clark, though, that purrs appreciatively. “Look at him take that.” 

“I think he must have prepped beforehand. Did you get all ready for us, baby boy?” Alan runs a hand up his spine, and Graeme shivers and nods. “What a good boy.” 

He buries his face in István’s neck as István starts back on his nipples again, and another finger joins the first. Graeme can tell from the way they move independently that it’s not two fingers on the same hand, and he groans, his precum leaking onto István’s pajama shirt. Mumbling to himself, he works it up István’s soft body, and István helps pull it over his head. He likes István’s chest — hairless and soft, with delicate little stretch marks here and there. He likes the way István’s never self-conscious about himself. He likes the flower vine tattoo winding up his ribcage, and the tattooed collar with Clark’s name etched into his skin. 

He likes the way István holds him close as Alan and Clark fuck him with their fingers, making him shake and groan and sob. And when he’s just about to come, those fingers pressing incessantly over his prostate, it all stops. 

He whines, turning to look at Alan, who’s grinning savagely. “He likes being edged so much. Besides, I think it’s time we all lost a lot more clothing.” 

Clark returns his grin, helping Alan lift Graeme up, then pulling István up from the couch, too. 

István’s legs are unsteady, and he pulls Clark in for a kiss, grounding himself. Graeme’s glad he has Alan to carry him. He presses a kiss to Alan’s shoulder as they walk to the bedroom, murmuring, “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, baby boy.” Alan kisses his forehead, then sets him down on the California King — Graeme had double checked before booking that they’d have one, because otherwise, he couldn’t imagine how four full-sized bodies were supposed to fit…

Graeme leans back on his elbows, watching Alan get naked, a process that always interests him. But just as interesting are István and Clark, who are all wrapped up in each other for the moment, sharing kisses as they help each other undress. It’s beautiful, and his heart pangs at the thought of his friends’ shared love for each other. 

And then Alan is sliding his body over Graeme’s, wrapping him in his arms and blending their mouths together, and he’s lost in his own shared love. 

He feels the bed depress beside him, and then István is pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He turns, catching István’s mouth, drowning a soft moan from him. Alan’s cock slides over Graeme’s, and the delicious feeling has  _ him _ moaning. The fact that Alan is hard and evidently very into this whole scene makes Graeme want to purr under him, so happy he made the right decision to set this up. 

Alan sucks on his jawline as he and István continue to kiss, and when István moans again, he realizes that Clark is between István’s legs, rimming him. It makes Graeme whimper against István’s lips, wanting the same attention. 

“Such a needy boy,” Alan says with a chuckle, moving on the bed, making some motion Graeme doesn't catch. “Is this all right, Isti?” 

“Yeah, green,” István replies, breathless. “Give him to me.” 

Alan picks Graeme up, and Graeme doesn’t protest — he always loves being manhandled by his man, who is he kidding? — when he’s laid over István’s hot skin. Their cocks graze each other between their stomachs, and they’re at the perfect place to continue making out. So, Graeme does, falling into another kiss with István, thoughts of Alan and Clark temporarily flying away. 

That is, until someone’s tongue glides over his hole, and Graeme squeaks —  _ squeaks!? —  _ into István’s mouth. He ruts against István’s stomach, seeking friction, but again, someone’s heavy arm holds him still, and then there’s a smack on his bottom that has him hissing and leaking precum and rolling back his eyes in pleasure. 

István chuckles, a low, throaty sound. “What a poor baby boy, being tortured like this.” He’s hands sweep up Graeme’s back, and hold him close as the mouth — mouths — start to work him over. 

It’s clear from the way one mouth leaves him and István starts squirming that they’re taking turns with them, down there, but Graeme still can’t tell who’s who, and if that isn’t the fucking biggest turn on he’s ever felt— well. István’s fingers start to pull on his nipple ring, and his other hand is gliding through Graeme’s hair and then pulling at that, as well. His ass still stings, and the other sensations make his skin prickle with feeling. István knows exactly what he’s doing, and he does it  _ well. _ Crying, Graeme reaches for the edge without being able to move his hips. His orgasm is so close he can taste it, can feel it sparking up his spine and filling his belly. 

And then a set of strong fingers are wrapped around the base of his dick, and he’s eased away from István, edged  _ again. _ He sobs, begging for release. Alan’s there, whispering in his ear, “Shhhh, baby boy, you’re doing such a good job for us. So good, so pretty. Clark loved your little asshole so much. I bet he’d love your mouth even more.” 

Shaking, Graeme takes a moment in Alan’s arms to recenter himself. Clark’s still eating István out, and without Graeme to cling to, István is clutching at the sheets and fucking his cock into the empty air, looking supremely unsatisfied. “Keep him company, Daddy?” Graeme asks sweetly. 

“Of course, baby.” With a quieting kiss, Alan slaps Graeme’s ass to get him going, not that it really takes that much encouragement. 

Graeme realizes, as he crawls on shaky legs toward Clark, that Clark keeps himself smooth down there, something he’d never noticed or frankly, ever considered. With a grunt, Clark lets Graeme crawl between his legs, and Graeme explores the smooth skin with curious lips. He likes the sensation on his cheek, that smoothness, but he also thinks it doesn’t hold a candle to his Daddy. Still, he has fun nosing around Clark’s balls and up his dick, sliding his mouth over the head and suckling. 

At Clark’s groan, he hears Alan chuckle. “He’s such a good little cocksucker, isn’t he? Loves it. Can’t get enough.” 

Beaming with pride, wanting to show off how good he is, Graeme begins to work Clark deeper. He’s not sure if his triggers will ever allow him to deep throat, but he’s still talented, if Alan is anything to go by. And now he can add Clark’s review, which seems to be an enthusiastic thumbs up from the way his hips buck when Graeme works his tongue over the glans. 

“Mmm, Alan, you should go fuck him. Fill him up on both ends. It’s the fucking best.” István’s voice is languorous, rough, and Graeme wonders if he missed him coming. 

He guesses maybe he did, because there’s a reshuffling of bodies again, and he’s moved up to his hands and knees. István slides underneath him, a mess on his stomach, and Graeme moans when István takes a finger full of it and presses it inside Graeme’s mouth. He eats István’s cum, then happily kisses him and shares it. 

István’s fingers run through his hair. “Your Daddy has your ass, and Clark’s going to fuck your mouth, and I’m going to keep playing with these delightful little rings, okay, baby boy?” István twists one of his nipple rings in demonstration. 

“Green—” Graeme chokes out, then, “No, wait, yellow.” 

Immediately, István and Clark’s hands have lifted off of him, and Alan’s leaning beside him, running a soothing touch over his body. “What do you need, baby?” 

Graeme struggles to align his thoughts, to remember what had made him pang with worry just moments ago. “Clark, um— just not too deep, okay?” 

Clark comes into his vision, pressing a kiss to his forehead and sweeping back sweaty bangs. “Of course, baby boy. No breath play, no throat play. Of course.” 

István hugs him. “So proud of you for using your words, baby. How are you now?” 

“Green,” Graeme says, relaxing into the scene once more. “You guys?” 

“Green” echoes around the room, and they all smile dopily at each other. 

Clark breaks it, coming to kneel over István’s face so his cock is right at Graeme’s lips. István gets a wicked little grin and bites Clark’s tender inner thigh, making him twitch and swat István lightly with a whispered, “Brat.” István just keeps grinning, though. 

Clark runs his hand over Graeme’s face, then curls his fingers in Graeme’s hair. “Green?” he asks again, overly cautious now. 

Graeme feels like crying. Clark could have played this so many ways — or just refused to play with Graeme at all, given his issues. Instead he’s treating Graeme like a precious gift. The way Alan treats him. The way, he supposes, people are always supposed to be treated. “Green.” 

With that, he lets Clark take control of his actions, giving himself over, and trusting Clark won’t push him too far. Clark’s cock bumps against his lips, and he opens them, pliant, wanting to give back all the pleasure he’s received. 

Clark is using his mouth for shallow little thrusts when he feels Alan’s fingers probing his hole again, pressing in lube and checking his stretch. Then, the head of Alan’s cock is pressing inside him, hot and solid, sliding home. Graeme grunts around Clark’s cock when Alan is fully seated, and  _ fuck, _ István was  _ not _ wrong. It feels amazing to be filled on both ends. Clark and Alan work a rhythm between them so that Clark doesn’t shove too far down Graeme’s throat, but Alan’s thrusts are deep, and strong, and gliding over his prostate just right. 

He cries out around Clark’s cock, letting it vibrate over the skin, when István circles his fingers around the base of Graeme’s dick again to keep him from coming too fast. “Gotta let Daddy and Clark come first, baby boy, that’s the rule.” 

As much as he can, he nods agreement, trying to hold back his orgasm, clawing at the edge of sanity. István’s hand seeks his, and he squeezes their fingers together as he whispers to Graeme about how hot he looks and how good he is and how proud Alan looks. He can’t help it — tears spring to his eyes. He’s absolutely wrecked with pleasure, on some higher plateau now where maybe coming doesn’t matter. 

“Can Clark come in your mouth? Squeeze once for no, twice for yes.” 

Concentrating, Graeme squeezes István’s hand twice, and István relays that information to Clark. István scoots up behind Clark, where Graeme can’t see, but from the context of Clark’s moans, he thinks István is repaying the rimjob. Roughly, Clark yanks on Graeme’s hair, pulling so his cock is resting on Graeme’s tongue again, and then he stiffens, grunting as he comes. It fills Graeme’s mouth, letting Graeme swallow carefully, controlled, rather than the choice being taken away from him by Clark shoving his dick down Graeme’s throat. 

“Don’t swallow it all,” István says, and then he’s there, pressing their mouths together, and sharing the taste. He wraps his arms around Graeme’s body and draws him down to the bed while Alan keeps his hips up. 

Graeme takes the chance to let his eyes close, let himself be pillowed against István’s chest. Someone is stroking through his hair, and he thinks it’s Clark. And Alan’s cock is filling him so, so good. Suddenly, Alan arches over him, pistoning his hips at a new angle that absolutely nails Graeme’s prostate. “Let go, baby boy. You’ve done so good. Let go now,” Alan whispers, loving, his lips hovering over Graeme’s collar. 

With a moan, he does, cum painting István’s stomach as he clenches down around Alan. Alan groans, stiffening, filling him up. 

They somehow manage to not all collapse on each other, though Graeme’s still too cum-drunk — or endorphin-high — to know how. All he knows is that he can feel the solid strength of Alan behind him, and the softness of István in front of him. There are hands and limbs everywhere, and he’s still nuzzling in István’s neck, kissing it and shivering from his come down. 

Eventually, that soft cocoon transitions into cleaning mode, and Graeme’s fairly sure he has Alan to thank for making sure he doesn’t drown in the shower. They all don their pajamas, and Graeme leans over István to give Clark a kiss, then one for István, before settling into Alan’s arms under the covers. 

“Thank you, Graeme. This was...a wonderful way to relieve the stress of the last...oh, three months.” Alan kisses his cheek. 

“You made it, and I’m so proud of you, Alan. You’re doing such good things. I know Tommy would be proud of you, too.” He reaches up, thumbing a tear away from Alan’s cheek. 

Clark reaches over, squeezing Alan’s shoulder. “Good job, my man.”

“The whole community is proud of you,” István adds. 

Alan goes red, and bashful, and too adorable for words. With a last round of goodnights, Graeme hugs him to his chest and strokes his hair until he’s asleep. 

 

Graeme’s not sure if something in the room wakes him up, or if it’s just his still-fucked up sleep schedule messing with him, but he jolts awake out of a not-so-pleasant dream with his fingers still clutching at Alan’s chest. It had been one of those ones where he’s had this class all quarter that he’s never attended and now it’s the final and— Graeme shudders, burying himself deeper in Alan, wide awake and attempting to not fall back into the anxiety dream. 

He comes to realize that there’s a hand on his hip, stroking over his pajama bottoms soothingly, that cannot belong to Alan, unless Alan has grown extra limbs in the middle of the night. He looks over his shoulder, and sees István’s smile in the dark of the room. 

“G’morning,  _ csillagom,” _ he whispers, squeezing his hip a little. “We didn’t wake you up, did we?” 

“No, I don’t think so. I was having this awful dream, anyway— wait,  _ we?” _

István’s teeth depress into his lip, and his eyes go fuzzy for a second as there’s a slight movement behind him. In a move that would make Graeme laugh if it wasn’t, A, so hot, and B, still dark in the room, Clark’s head pops up behind István’s shoulder, his arm coming possessively around István’s body as his hips roll again. 

And Graeme didn’t flunk kindergarten, so it takes him all of a second to put two and two together and realize that Clark is silently fucking István as he and Alan sleep. Or, well, he  _ was  _ asleep. Now he’s awake, and Clark looks vaguely apologetic. 

“Graeme, baby, I’m sorry we didn’t talk about this before. Isti and I have a consensual somnophilia agreement. He likes to wake up with a cock inside him, and I kind of—” 

“Forgot you guys were here,” István finishes, on a breathless laugh. “We know it’s bad form. We can stop if you want.” 

Graeme meets István’s eyes, then Clark’s. “Or I can join…?”

István’s fingers play at his hip. “Would love you to join, baby boy. Do you need permission?” 

The whole thing — waking from the anxiety dream, slipping into play that quickly — Graeme’s heart is beating wildly and he’s so, so turned on. “I do. But Alan had such a hard night last night, I’d feel bad waking him up.” 

István grins, but Graeme isn’t sure why until he feels Alan’s lips on his forehead. “Do you have something you want to ask me, baby boy?” 

Graeme turns back around, looking up at the love of his life, who’s all sleepy and handsome and rumbly. “Did we wake you up?” he asks, unconsciously echoing István earlier. 

Alan’s hand sweeps over the side of his face, and he lifts Graeme up for a long, thorough kiss. “Maybe. Don’t see why we can’t all satisfy some urges and then go right back to sleep, though.” 

His smile, his perfect smile, settles down the guilt in Graeme’s stomach. “Then can I play with my friends, Daddy?” 

“Absolutely.” Alan’s beard scruffs against his cheek, then his neck, as he worries over Graeme’s collar. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” István says playfully, which earns him a swat on the hip from Clark. 

Despite the lip, István is quieter than last night, which is interesting to Graeme. He’s yet to see István be as submissive to Clark as Graeme is to Alan, and he had been wondering if István ever went that deep. 

Being woken up by his Dom’s cock is, apparently, the key. 

Alan seems to sense this as well, because he reaches behind him for something, the lube, Graeme sees eventually, and smiles a little wickedly at Graeme and István. His hand sweeps down Graeme’s side, pulling his pajama bottoms off and helping Graeme kick them away. Kissing Graeme, his hand closes over Graeme’s already hard cock and tugs, making Graeme moan into the kiss. “Isti, do you want to fuck our pretty little boy while you get fucked?” 

Graeme groans at the question, pressing his ass back against István’s cock in invitation. 

“Look, he’s so eager for you.” 

Alan’s fingers slip between his cheeks, swiping lube up into his hole and stretching him. István’s hand tightens on Graeme’s hip, and he sucks a mark on Graeme’s neck. 

“You want to fuck him, baby? Make yourself feel good? He’s ready for you.” Clark’s voice whispers over István’s shoulder, seductive enough to make István whimper. 

His eyes steady on Graeme’s, Alan lifts Graeme’s leg up to give István the best angle. The feeling of being positioned by his Dom slides Graeme deep, deep into subspace, and when István pushes inside him, to use him, to use his hole for pleasure, he clutches at Alan’s shirt and meets his eyes and slips even deeper. István’s cock is a little smaller than Alan’s, but the fact that he can feel Clark fucking István through the movement of István’s dick is new and wonderful and so fucking hot. 

Clark’s fingers thread through István’s, clutching at Graeme’s hip as the three of them rock as one. Not that Alan’s left out. He’s currently running his tongue over Graeme’s nipple, tugging at the ring and whispering encouragement. Graeme closes his eyes, letting himself just  _ feel _ everything. István’s body feels amazing behind him, inside him, and the way Clark is groaning makes Graeme want to whimper. István grazes over his prostate perfectly and he sobs into Alan’s hair.

“Shhh, shhh, baby, it’s okay, you’re perfect, you’re doing such a good job. Color?” Alan’s voice is steady in his ear. 

“Green,” Graeme whispers, when he finally finds his voice. “It’s just really fucking good, Daddy.” 

Alan’s lips tip up in a grin, and then he’s kissing Graeme senseless as they all move together. Alan’s hand slips down to Graeme’s cock, and he starts jacking him in time with Clark’s thrusts, which are the motion driving everything. It’s too much all at once, and Graeme can’t keep himself from coming all over Alan’s stomach. 

“That’s it, baby boy,” rumbles Clark on the far side of the bed. “Good job.” 

The praise makes Graeme shudder through aftershocks, clenching down on István which seems to start a chain reaction. He feels István fill him as István’s fingers dig into his hip, leaving bruises for sure. Clark shouts when he comes, biting down on István’s neck. 

Panting and groans break the silence of the bedroom, the smell of sex heavy in the air. Graeme burrows his face into Alan’s neck, drawing his leg up and over Alan’s hip to get as close as possible. Even through all of that, Alan’s only half hard, and Graeme makes a little noise of inquiry meant to convey,  _ hey, want me to help with that? _

“I’m good, sweetie, thanks.” Alan’s lips brush over his hair, and he feels Alan’s hand come down to where Clark and István’s hands are still sitting, on his hip. Everyone is still heaving and shuddering with heavy breath, but there’s a tenderness to the moment that Graeme can’t deny.

He works his own hand out from between them and slides it in with the others’. Four sets of fingers link together as their breaths and heartbeats slow enough to allow them to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking I'm going to have to write a separate Clark/Istvan story because Clark's a little one-dimensional right now but Istvan is FASCINATING to me. I'd love to flesh Clark out more and see how they met.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated, especially on an original work!
> 
> Please see the tumblr for my original work: https://mhabbott.tumblr.com/  
> Subscribe for news or drop something nice in my inbox. :)


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